


it's death by a thousand cuts (what once was ours is no one's now)

by lonelier_version_of_you



Series: darkened hearts and phantom pain [2]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bathing/Washing, But Mostly Hurt, Caretaking, Consent Issues, Cuddling & Snuggling, Darkfic, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Is there a tag for, John is just an inherently unreliable narrator lmao, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Self-Harm, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Svenska | Swedish, Unreliable Narrator, a character slipping into their native language because they're just that out of it, and of course lots and lots of, because that happens a lot in this fic, discussed at various points across chapters and well... you know how the original fic ends, once again this is only rated M for dark themes lol, only discussed in the last chapter but still worth tagging, probably terrible Swedish at that rip, speaking of which, there has to be a tag for that it's such a common trope, this fic has many classic hurt/comfort staples including:, to varying degrees of graphicness and severity, trigger warnings for:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-09-26 23:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20397889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelier_version_of_you/pseuds/lonelier_version_of_you
Summary: A series of midquels to "the bravest men return with darkened hearts and phantom pain (and when i die i want him lying by my side)" (read that first, or this won't make any sense), exploring those twenty-five days John spent taking care of Henrik.





	1. come on, let's sleep in my bed; can i just be in my head with you? (Day Three)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing 'darkened hearts and phantom pain', I felt, even though the fic stands alone, that it was still unfinished, that there was a lot left to do with this AU that I didn't do with that fic. Also my life is really terrible right now and I'm depressed as fuck so I'm writing angst instead of doing anything about it.
> 
> By nature of the original fic and this AU as a whole, this is gonna be pretty fucked up and very angsty. This specific chapter is tame enough, but there are a few subjects I plan to write in future chapters that could be particularly triggering, so do be careful.
> 
> I'm not going to explore the whole twenty-five days, but I'm aiming for at least about half of them. (I already have a rough outline of what I'm going to do with each ficlet.) Updates will be whenever I feel up to writing. The lengths of these fics probably aren't gonna be consistent, either. I'm trying to stay under 1000 words (apart from the last chapter, where I think going over that limit would be justified...), but idk, we'll see how it goes I guess.
> 
> To any Swedish speakers reading this: I have probably butchered your language, or will go on to butcher it, and I'm very sorry. 😆 (However, I have been running it through /several/ translator programs rather than just Google Translate, so hopefully it's not too terrible?)
> 
> The fic title is from Taylor Swift's Death By A Thousand Cuts, lyrics in this chapter's title are from Sleepover by Hayley Kiyoko. (Yes. Hayley Kiyoko /again/. I know.)

The first few days of having Henrik home aren’t particularly notable.

Or they’re not anything John didn’t expect, anyway. To say they aren’t notable would be far from the truth, as some part of John still can’t stop comparing this new, delicate, shattered Henrik to the strong, cool man he’s known for thirty years, and in that sense, they’re not only notably, but wildly different from any day John’s spent with Henrik before this last week.

But almost everything that’s happened since Henrik was discharged from the psych ward is what John had predicted after those 48 hours his friend had spent being monitored in the hospital. Okay, that panic attack in the car park was a bit of a shock, but the rest – the crying jags, the constantly being on edge, the need to have other people verbally or physically guide him through doing things – are all things John had witnessed or been told about when visiting Henrik after he emerged from his catatonia.

John thinks he really should have predicted this too.

He’s been sleeping (or more often than not, lying awake wallowing in worry and guilt) in the spare room next to Henrik’s bedroom, in case Henrik wakes up and needs anything during the night.

That also means he’s jarred awake at 3am, only half an hour after finally getting to sleep, by the sound of screaming, and yelling that John doesn’t understand a word of. It takes him a few seconds to realise Henrik must have been having a nightmare, which shouldn’t be a surprise, but it is. It was one thing to assume it would happen at some point, it’s a whole other thing to actually be witness to it, and to hear that horrible fucking _screaming_.

Yet another wave of guilt washes over him, for probably the millionth time in the past week. This was always _John’s_ thing, the night terrors. It’s a terrible experience, but at least he’s deserving of the pain. Henrik isn’t, yet John did this to him anyway.

John drags himself up from the floor and hurries over to Henrik’s room, slowing his pace as he opens the door so as not to scare Henrik further, walking over and carefully taking a seat on the edge of the bed. (Somehow, despite having helped Henrik bathe or get dressed and undressed on a few occasions now, and knowing that there’s not going to be any true privacy in their relationship from now on, John still finds himself feeling like he’s crossing a very intimate line by being on _Henrik’s bed_. He makes a mental note to himself to move a chair in here.)

Henrik has stopped shouting by now, instead having buried himself in the bedsheets, quivering and crying silently.

“Henrik,” John begins, “I heard you screaming. Did you have a nightmare?”

Henrik nods, and starts to murmur a reply. “Ja. Jag är ledsen, jag tänkte inte väcka dig – jag trodde bara att det var verkligt...”

It takes John a few moments to realise why he can’t make sense of the softly-spoken words: Henrik’s speaking Swedish. John goes into something of a panic at the thought that Henrik might be too dissociated to differentiate between languages, or perhaps even downright regressing to his mother tongue, but manages to remind himself that _Henrik is only half-awake and still messed up from the dream, hell, maybe he was dreaming in Swedish, it’s fine, he’s gonna be fine (as fine as he can be), this doesn’t have to be a really bad sign_.

Instead of pointing out that he can’t understand Henrik, worrying that that might make him more upset, John just chooses the most generic comforting response he can and hopes he gets vaguely within the ballpark of whatever Henrik said. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. You’ll be alright,” he says, reaching out and running a hand through his friend’s hair.

Henrik’s breathing slows to a more normal rate as John continues to gently stroke his hair. “Kan du sova här med mig?” he asks, taking hold of John’s hands and trying to pull him closer.

“You want me to sleep here, with you?” John hopes he misunderstood, because he’s not sure he could handle sharing a bed with Henrik, even in a completely innocent context. But Henrik’s hopeful tone and his attempt to bring John closer both seem to imply otherwise.

Henrik nods again.

John wants to refuse, he does. This feels so _wrong_ of him to be doing, sharing a bed with a man he loves so deeply, who doesn’t love him back. This is bringing that love too close to the surface. This is always going to mean something to him that it doesn’t to Henrik, who just needs the comfort. And it feels even more wrong when John is the one who broke Henrik in the first place.

But Henrik looks so upset and desperate and hopeful all at once and it’s obvious this is what he _needs_. And if it’s what Henrik wants, John can’t just deny him it.

So he says “okay”, and he slips under the duvet, and, despite his anxieties and guilt (and how awkward the position is, given how much taller Henrik is than he), he lets Henrik curl up against him until they both fall back to sleep.


	2. darling, it's just the way we say goodbye (Day Five)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's about to return to work, and Henrik is worried about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more 'calm before the Angst'. (Make no mistake, this is angst. But not capital-A Angst. Not yet.)
> 
> Title from The Way We Say Goodbye by Circa Waves. (You may remember that I used a line from Motorcade for a past Johnrik fic. Look, I haven't listened to their other stuff yet but their latest album What's It Like Over There? is just super Johnrik all around. Give it a listen if you get the chance.)

John wakes up with a feeling of dread.

It’s his first day back at work, today. He’s going to have to leave Henrik alone, today, for hours on end. He’s worried about how Henrik’s going to cope with it. What if he hurts himself somehow, or he needs something, or has a panic attack, and John isn’t there?

Some part of John still can’t help but wonder if this was even a good idea, returning to work so fast. He’d been offered more time off, but he didn’t want to get Henrik too used to being with him all the time only to throw him off again. And he’d have to leave the house sooner or later, even if it was just to get shopping, so he might as well let Henrik get adjusted to being on his own.

And he needs the distraction. He can’t handle seeing Henrik like this.

Even though they’re physically closer than John ever could’ve imagined, Henrik feels more distant than ever before. He seems distanced from the world as a whole, to be fair, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

After he’s gotten them both through the morning, and made breakfast, John tells Henrik about it, about his first day back at work and how Henrik will have to be by himself today.

Well, he’d told him before, of course. There was no way in hell he would spring something like this on Henrik with no warning. But he worries about Henrik not remembering or understanding things.

“You know I’m going back to work today, don’t you, Henrik?”

“Yes.”

“That means you’ll have to be on your own here for a few hours. It won’t be long: I’ve asked to do shorter shifts until you’re properly settled and hopefully doing better.” (And indeed he had – and he hadn’t had to ask more than twice to get what he wanted. Being a famous surgeon who could go to the media and complain if he wanted has its perks.) “Do you think you’ll be okay with that?”

Henrik shakes his head. “Something might happen.”

“Well,” John begins, not really sure how to reassure Henrik when he has the same worry himself, “just be careful, yeah? You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“No. To you.”

_Oh_. Damn it, why hadn’t John thought of that? After everything, it’s no surprise that Henrik would associate the hospital with danger. “I’ll be alright, Henrik. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“It might.”

“It won’t,” John says, with a faked confidence, as if seeing Henrik so concerned for him - _him_, of all people - isn't making his heart ache.

Henrik seems to drop the subject after that, until half an hour later.

John’s about to head out the door when he feels a sudden grasp on his hands. He freezes in panic for a second, an instinct he never quite got rid of, until he realises it’s Henrik.

He turns around. “You know I have to go.”

“Don’t,” Henrik pleads, “don’t leave.”

Henrik sounds and looks genuinely scared for John’s wellbeing. John would think it irrational, in any other situation, if he weren’t Henrik’s sole caregiver. But considering that context (even though it hurts him to think of Henrik that way, as someone who needs to be taken care of in the first place), he kind of understands the fear.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he assures Henrik, “and you know you can call me if you need to hear from me. I’ll be okay.”

“Promise?” Henrik asks sceptically.

“I promise,” John says, and then, before he knows it, he’s out the door.


	3. the broken hearts stand as the price you've gotta pay (Day Six)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John realises things are worse than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought I wasn't going to be able to avoid crossing the under-1000 word limit for these, but I managed to keep this just under the limit by 20 words or so. Yay for me.
> 
> This is where it really starts getting angsty. No real trigger warnings for this chapter, though, apart from a very small and minor instance of self-harm on John's part. (Though I'll be addressing that more in depth in later chapters, so if you're triggered by it, please be careful.)
> 
> Chapter title from Badlands by Bruce Springsteen.

Until today, John hadn’t thought things could get much worse.

He knew Henrik was going to have better days and worse days, yes. They were lucky enough that yesterday was undeniably a better day: Henrik had spoken more than he had any other day since all this began, even if his sentences were still short and choppy and he’d mostly gone silent again by the time John got back from work, and he’d generally seemed fairly lucid, enough that John had returned home to the sight of him reading on the sofa (even if the book did look old and worn, meaning Henrik had likely read it many a time before and could probably recite much of it off by heart anyway).

But it seems, now, that was merely a moment of relief before today. If John believed in such things, he’d think it was a cruel trick from the heavens, trying to lull him into a false sense of hope before Henrik crashed entirely.

Earlier this morning, Henrik had seemed too dissociated to even listen to John’s directions properly, resulting in John having to go through the whole process of getting Henrik’s clothes off, giving him a bath, and getting him dressed. It had been painfully awkward for John, though Henrik hadn’t seemed to mind (and John kind of wished he would, because he needed a sign that _his_ Henrik was still there).

John’s making breakfast, right now, and he’s trying as hard as he can to put all his focus into the food, trying to ignore the voice in his head telling him _this is Henrik getting worse, he’s only going to get worse and it’s all your doing, this is your punishment_ _this is your punishment—_

He hears a loud crash and looks around, only to see a plate he’d tried to grab clattering to the floor. It hasn’t broken, thank God, but the loud noise seems to finally garner a reaction out of Henrik, who starts crying.

John groans quietly in frustration, digging his nails into his palms and letting the sharp jolt of pain bring him back to himself. He grabs the plate off the floor, places it on the counter, and then goes to try and calm Henrik down. “Ssh, ssh, everything’s alright, I just dropped the plate, that’s all. Come on now, come on, just breathe with me, okay?”

It takes a good fifteen minutes of this to get Henrik to stop crying, and by the time John’s managed to calm him down, the toast is burning.

The day continues just as badly as it started. Henrik is even more anxious and clingy than usual, getting fearful if John leaves him alone for more than a couple of minutes. He still hasn’t spoken a single word today, either. Not even in Swedish. John almost thinks he’d rather hear Henrik’s native language than this goddamn _silence_. (At least, he supposes, he doesn't have work today. He doesn't know what he'd do if he had to leave Henrik on his own like this.)

By that evening, Henrik seems out of it enough that John has to lead him into the kitchen to get him to sit down at the table for dinner.

(It occurs to John that, by this point, he knows Henrik’s house better than Henrik himself does. He tries to shake that thought from his head.)

He prepares some baked beans for himself, and tomato soup for Henrik. (He’s never really understood it, why Henrik likes that stuff when he hates tomatoes so much. He’d tried asking about it once and only gotten an “it’s really _not_ the same thing, John” in response.)

When it’s done, he puts the dishes down on the table, takes a seat, and carefully, lightly taps Henrik’s shoulder to get his attention. “Henrik? Dinner’s ready.”

Henrik doesn’t seem to process that, though. If it weren’t for his flinching in shock when John touched him, and his eyes glancing towards John at the sound of his name, John would worry he’d gone catatonic again.

“Come on, Henrik, you know you need to eat,” John tries again, tentatively.

He still doesn’t get a proper response.

“Is it foolish of me to think you understand a word of this?” John sighs sadly. “Can you even hear me right now?”

Nothing happens.

John has a feeling he’s going to hate himself for this, but if it’s what he has to do…

He lifts up the spoon from the bowl of soup and brings it to Henrik’s lips. Henrik takes it instinctively – or at least John hopes it’s instinctive, despite the possibility nagging at the back of his mind that maybe Henrik knows what he’s been reduced to.

John forces himself to shut off after that, to focus on the task at hand and nothing else. (It’s what he’s spent his whole life doing, but somehow it’s much harder to keep his emotions in check when Henrik’s involved.)

It’s a slow process, feeding Henrik like this, but eventually, after finishing about three-quarters of the soup, he turns his head away and refuses to take any more. John doesn’t protest. It’s good enough, and he wants this over with as quickly as possible.

John’s own food is going cold by the time they’re done. He doesn’t mind. (It’s not like he hasn’t eaten worse things than cold baked beans, anyway.)

After tucking Henrik into bed a few hours later, but before going to sleep himself, John finds himself wishing under his breath, perhaps to any deity who will listen even though he doesn’t believe in them, perhaps to the universe itself, or perhaps to no one at all: “You can punish _me_ however you want, but Henrik is innocent. Please, just leave him alone.”

(He’s fairly certain the universe, or whoever, won’t listen – not to him, not after all he’s done. But he tries anyway.)


	4. you wanna touch me but there's too much history (Day Eight)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John contemplates the last week, and why Henrik tries to hold on to him so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more quiet, introspective chapter to counteract the emotional drama of the last one (and coming up in the next two - including a certain somebody finally being discussed then, as she had to be sooner or later... 😉). That doesn't mean it's any less angsty, though, so prepare yourselves.
> 
> I was sleep deprived as hell when I wrote this. Sorry if it sucks. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (Also, if you don't pick it up from the they/them pronouns, yes, Henrik's psychiatrist is nonbinary! Being genderqueer, I have to find a way to insert trans people into all my stories somewhere, it's the Rule™.)
> 
> Title from Touch by Shura, which I've thought of as being very much a Johnrik song for ages and I'm very glad to finally have a chance to use it as a fic title.

One of the most jarring things about Henrik now, John thinks, is that he’s so _clingy_.

In the past, that was never a word John would’ve used to describe Henrik. He was always so distanced, rarely seeking out physical contact with anyone unless he knew it was socially expected of him.

But now, Henrik seems to not want to go a moment without having John close to him.

They’d had an appointment with Henrik’s psychiatrist, yesterday, to see how the both of them were getting on after one week of Henrik being home. Henrik hadn’t left John’s side the whole time, just holding onto him in near-total silence as John rambled on to the psychiatrist, telling half-truths and lies-by-omission in an attempt to make Henrik’s condition sound better than it is, in an attempt to pretend like things hadn’t been so bad that he’d had to feed Henrik just the day before.

(The psychiatrist had looked at Henrik with pity in their eyes regardless, anyway, and John knows sharing the details of what had really been going on would’ve not only been an invasion of Henrik’s privacy, but would’ve made them pity him further. John didn’t want that, and he already had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at them as things were. Henrik Hanssen is not someone to be pitied, not even in this state. Sympathised with, yes. Sad for, most certainly. But not _pitied_.)

Henrik had barely let go of John even after they’d returned home, that day. He hadn’t wanted John to go to work today either, and had practically lit up when he returned home.

He’s nuzzled himself into John’s side on the sofa at the moment, and John thinks that if it weren’t under these circumstances, this would be sweet.

In fact, if it weren’t under these circumstances, this would be John’s dream come true. All of it. Henrik wanting to be with him and touch him and be held by him so much, him living with Henrik and getting to be there for him and help him…

But ultimately, it’s only because Henrik’s finally collapsed in on himself, the path he’s been heading down for many years now, and it was John who pushed him over the edge.

And his desire to be so close to John all the time is almost certainly nothing more than a manifestation of instinct: Henrik must be coming to properly recognise John as his caretaker now, and it’s natural for him to want to be near John because of that. It’s a survival instinct – Henrik’s afraid of not having his needs met without John. Separation anxiety, John would call it, if that didn’t make Henrik sound like a child, which he isn’t, and make it sound like it’s not a legitimate fear, which it is.

And that’s why John finds himself so fucking angry at the pressure he’s been facing, both spoken and unspoken, to put Henrik back in hospital or hire someone to look after him. He’s the only one who can understand Henrik’s needs like this, no one else knows the things about him that John knows: and he certainly doesn’t want anyone new getting involved and having their first impression of Henrik be _this_, this fragile, broken man, just another faceless nobody they need to keep alive for the money. John, at least, knows just whom he’s caring for, that Henrik is so, _so_ far from being just _anyone_, and he knows Henrik well enough to know what he would need and want if he were in a more lucid state.

John’s suddenly dragged out of his thoughts as he notices the gentle rhythm of Henrik’s breathing and how his eyes have closed. It seems Henrik has fallen asleep, still snuggled against him. It’s no surprise, really, as Henrik’s always tired these days; just existing seems to exhaust him – even when he does get a full night of sleep, which isn’t often (though it never has been, and even if it’s for different reasons now, John can’t help but find comfort in the fact that at least that one little thing is still the same).

John can’t bring himself to move, scared he’ll wake Henrik. Instead, he quietly stays in his position on the sofa, even though he’s sure it’ll have his muscles aching later, and waits for Henrik to wake up when he’s ready to.


	5. i threw your keys in the water; i looked back, they'd frozen halfway down in the ice (Day Ten)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe, he thinks, last night and this morning going so terribly was a bad omen after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the chapter you've all been waiting for: Henrik and John finally talk about Rox. Or Henrik tries to, at least...
> 
> This chapter's title is from February by Dar Williams. If you only listen to one song I used for one of these titles, make it that. It fits this AU like a glove.

The day doesn’t start off too well.

John had barely slept last night, only falling asleep at two in the morning – despite having finally gotten Henrik settled a whole hour beforehand – and being woken two hours later when Henrik had another nightmare. After spending a while quietly talking him down, he’d just sat at Henrik’s bedside and watched him sleep, not getting any further rest himself.

The whole morning has been difficult in itself (probably, John supposes, as a result of Henrik not sleeping enough the previous night either). Breakfast is no exception.

When John sets both his and Henrik’s plates down on the table, Henrik makes no effort to eat the meal, so John slowly takes hold of Henrik’s fork and begins to lift it to his lips. He tries to think of the action as no more than another task he has to perform, and it’s growing easier to do, easier to treat all this as normal – easier to feed and bathe and dress Henrik like it’s nothing. (That kind of scares John. He doesn’t _want_ this to be normal, doesn’t want to face up to the possibility that Henrik will always be like this. He wants things to go back to how they were, though logically he knows that they never can, now, and that even if Henrik were to get better he’d still not be the same, still have the scars on his soul that John put there.)

Henrik refuses to take the food, seemingly frustrated with John’s attempt to help. John hopes maybe he’d misread the lack of response, so he backs away. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it.”

Henrik takes hold of the fork and just looks at it, frowning and twisting it around in his hands awkwardly like he doesn’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do with it. Eventually he glances up at John, obviously embarrassed and upset, before quickly looking down again.

“Here,” John grips Henrik’s hand and carefully helps him guide the fork to his mouth. It seems they’re back at square one. John hates it.

Over the rest of the morning, thankfully, Henrik does seem to come back to himself a bit more – enough that John decides he can go into work today after all (his shift was supposed to start in the afternoon today anyway).

John returns early that evening to Henrik sitting on the sofa, gazing at a photo John didn’t even know he had. It’s a photo of himself, David and Roxanna together on a beach in Trinidad: Rox has one hand in David’s while using the other to pick bits of seaweed out of her bright pink hair, and David has his other arm around John’s shoulders. Henrik is the only one not in the photo, having been the one to take it.

John finds himself thinking back to those days. Things were so much simpler then. How did it turn out this way?

“Didn’t know you’d kept that one,” he says, gesturing at the photo. “It was fun, that day. Remember David nearly getting stung by that jellyfish? And we were all cheering him on, like the action hero he so badly wanted to pretend to be – ‘come on David, you can outswim it!’… good times.”

Henrik nods, snickering at the memory. John can’t help but smile. It’s been so long since he last heard Henrik laugh.

They spend a while reminiscing about that day (well, John does the vast majority of the talking, but it’s something, and he’ll take any opportunity for a vague sense of normalcy even if it’s bittersweet), until eventually the conversation fades and the room grows silent again - though Henrik still doesn’t take his eyes off the photo - until John’s suddenly caught off guard by the sound of Henrik's voice.

“Miss her.”

“What?” John doesn’t know how to react to this. He knows technically it’s a good sign if Henrik’s memory is intact, but he, selfish as he knows it is, doesn’t want to have to deal with Henrik mourning a loss that John caused. (Maybe, he thinks, last night and this morning going so terribly was a bad omen after all. Maybe Henrik’s nightmare last night was about Roxanna in the first place; maybe that’s why he’s thinking about her now.)

“Roxanna. Not here.”

Before John’s brain can go into overdrive trying to figure out how to respond to this, Henrik repeats “I miss her.”

“I know you do.”

“I…” Henrik pauses, struggling to get the words out. “I loved her.”

“I know you did,” John says.

It probably comes out colder than he planned it to, because Henrik turns away as if ashamed of having brought the topic up in the first place. John wants to apologise, but he can’t seem to bring himself to.

They don’t talk any more that day.


	6. are you strong enough to stand protecting both your heart and mine? (Day Eleven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems John’s only made Henrik retreat into himself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, everyone, no skipping days this time. I thought the last chapter needed proper followup. I very, very nearly went over the word limit here, but I managed to cut it down. Fuck yeah, go me.
> 
> Trigger warning for pretty graphic discussions of self-harm. (Yes, this is the chapter I was warning about before, if you're wondering.)
> 
> Title from Heavy in Your Arms by Florence and the Machine (which is, in a lot of ways, the perfect song for Henrik in this AU if you think about it).

It seems John’s only made Henrik retreat into himself again.

Not long after John shut down the conversation about Roxanna, Henrik had broken down in tears. John had done his best to calm him, but his best was nowhere near enough when Henrik was upset because of him in the first place. So after a while spent attempting to comfort Henrik, John had just suggested he took a nap, figuring that maybe a simple removal from the situation for them both would help.

Since then, Henrik hasn’t spoken a word or made any attempts at communication with John. He’s mostly been able to do things himself with only words of guidance to keep him on track, which is the best he ever really gets these days, so John doesn’t think it’s a case of Henrik simply not being lucid enough to form sentences.

This, John’s certain, is deliberate. Henrik’s deliberately not speaking to him: deliberately retreating to some place in his mind where things are better, and only coming out of it enough to comply with everything John asks.

And John knows why: he made Henrik think he was angry with him. He supposes he is, kind of. Of course he could never blame Henrik for his being unwell, but it does make John feel abandoned, like his entire world has been flipped upside down and he has only himself to rely on to deal with it. But mostly it’s himself he’s angry at – for everything, but especially for doing this to Henrik, for causing the man he loves such pain.

(John had found himself with the beginnings of a brand new scar on his thigh, last night, for those very reasons.)

John’s working his first full shift since everything went down, today, too. He hopes that maybe time alone would do Henrik some good after yesterday’s events, and he sure as hell needs distraction from everything himself.

He’s worried about leaving Henrik alone, still, but he wouldn’t be doing so in the first place if Henrik hadn’t shown that he could cope with it. Ideally John would be able to find someone who could keep an eye on Henrik while he’s at work, but he doesn’t trust anyone to take care of Henrik when he’s so vulnerable, so just leaving him alone, calling if he needs to check in, and hoping for the best is all John can do.

Things at work, at least, go as smoothly as John can hope for right now, and while he doesn’t get verbal answers any of the three times he calls, Henrik does pick up the phone, which is reassuring. (That’s their system, since Henrik speaks so little and it’s not always English – John will call and wait for a call back. If Henrik picks up, John knows he’s safe, if nothing else.)

When John’s shift is finally over and he gets back home, Henrik isn’t there to welcome him back. John decides to check Henrik’s bedroom, assuming he’s probably in there.

As John enters, it takes him a few moments to realise exactly what he’s seeing.

There are shattered pieces of glass across the floor, and – is that a wooden photo frame and discarded photo John sees amongst the mess? And the frame looks strangely familiar—

And that’s when John notices Henrik himself is leaning against the wall, his shirt and jumper sleeves on one arm both pushed upwards, holding a fragment of glass to that arm…

Fuck. Henrik’s trying to hurt himself. Of course as soon as John thinks it’s safe to leave Henrik on his own, _this_ happens.

“Henrik?” John hurries over to his friend, barely paying any thought to not stepping on the glass. He wrestles the glass from Henrik’s grip as carefully as he can and discards it on the floor. He’ll get rid of it properly later, right now Henrik is the priority. He takes hold of Henrik’s wrists and says “Henrik – you really shouldn’t _do that_!”

Henrik doesn’t meet John’s eyes, just flinches back. “Sorry, John,” he says, voice cracking, “sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

This is too much. All of a sudden, Henrik’s the terrified young man John dragged from that lake all those years ago again. John can’t take it.

“Stop it,” he interrupts, “stop saying that!” And then he hears Henrik whimper and attempt to choke back a sob, and he realises he’s only making this worse. He tries to sound gentler as he says “look, Henrik, you just really shouldn’t do that to yourself, okay? It’ll only make things worse. Me doing it is one thing, but you—” he stops there, as it hits him what he just said. _It’s fine_, he tries to assure himself, _Henrik’s not going to remember it after a few hours or so; he probably doesn’t even understand what you mean._

But then he sees Henrik’s eyes widen as he realises what John said, and he manages to fight his way out of John’s grasp, instead taking hold of John’s arms and pushing his sleeves up.

_Oh. He’s trying to check for injuries_, John realises. He hates this, hates that Henrik is showing any concern for him when he’s already in such a state himself; Henrik shouldn’t be worrying about John anyway, John doesn’t _matter_.

John lets him check, anyway: he hasn’t cut on his arms in a long time – they’re too obvious – and any scars that might have been there in the past have long faded now.

Thankfully, Henrik finishes checking John’s arms quickly, and seems satisfied with not having seen anything. He waits patiently as John bandages his wound and as he cleans up the glass.

John can’t shake the feeling, the whole time, that this is his fault; that if he hadn’t snapped at Henrik yesterday then maybe his friend wouldn’t have felt the need to do this.

At least he got there before it could get worse. John hopes that counts for something.


	7. the black clouds i'm hanging, this anchor i'm dragging; the sails of memory rip open in silence (Day Thirteen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to do anything as badly as he wants to be able to give Henrik what he wants, to fix this, to make him better. But he can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up a lot more angsty than I'd planned. So, uh, yeah, trigger warning for self-harm again.
> 
> Title from Change of Time by Josh Ritter.

Since John found Henrik self-harming, things have been frustratingly stagnant. When John managed to bring himself to ask why Henrik did it, that evening, he’d murmured something John couldn’t quite understand, but the word ‘distraction’ was in there and that was more than enough explanation for John.

As John expected, Henrik seems to have forgotten the whole thing since then, returning to the same barely-coherent dissociative haze as always. Some part of John is almost envious: Henrik may have forgotten, but John can’t. John can’t just shut down and retreat into his mind for safety like Henrik does. He’s got too many responsibilities, now, he needs to be strong for Henrik – someone needs to take care of him, and who else is there to do it but John?

(And he certainly couldn’t achieve it, this breaking, the same way Henrik does.

There’s an odd sort of exquisiteness to it with Henrik, the same way there always has been. It’s similar to that thing – kintsugi, John believes it’s called? – where people piece broken pottery back together and it’s only more beautiful for having been broken. Henrik is like the personification of that.

It’s horrible, of course, to see Henrik suffer, but somehow, even now, he manages to do it with a beauty and grace that John could only dream of.)

Still, at least Henrik has allowed John to help him this morning instead of resisting like he sometimes does, and John doesn’t have work today so he doesn’t have to worry about how Henrik will fare on his own, and things are calm right now: they’re sitting on the sofa together, half-watching the TV. It’s playing some news report about Brexit or something else John can’t say he cares enough about to pay attention to.

And then another report comes on. A report about a mass shooting overseas.

It takes a few seconds for John to fully realise just what’s being discussed, but as soon as he hears the beginnings of sobs from beside him, it hits him like a freight train.

Goddammit, he should’ve known what a terrible idea this was. John turns off the TV immediately, despite knowing full well it’s not going to be of much use now.

It’s no more than moments afterward that Henrik goes from quietly crying to screaming. He sounds _terrified_. He’s shaking, too, as he pulls his knees tight to his chest.

For a few moments, John can do nothing but sit there and watch, frozen in the panic and sadness that seeing Henrik like this brings him. Henrik hardly ever gets this bad, so John’s not used to dealing with it yet, not used to the screaming, to the fear, to how totally _lost_ Henrik seems…

But then Henrik starts to tug at his hair, which quickly turns into clawing at his scalp, forcing John to snap out of his thoughts as he grabs Henrik’s hands and yanks them down.

“Henrik, no. Please don’t hurt yourself,” he pleads, pulling Henrik into his arms carefully, rocking him gently in an attempt to be comforting.

Henrik just tries to pull away, seemingly upset by the action, even though John's only trying to comfort him and keep him safe.

“Ssh, hush now, it’s okay, you’re okay. You’re here in your house with me, alright? It’s just the two of us.” The next few words just slip out of John's mouth before he can even think about them, much less stop them. “You’re safe here, my darling, you’re safe.”

Henrik stops screaming, which is something at least, and huddles tightly against John, burying his face into John’s shoulder, holding on to his friend like his life depends on him. (John knows, deep down, that that’s because it does.) He’s still sobbing relentlessly, though, with his eyes glazed over like he’s not quite _there_, and it’s clear he hasn’t properly come back to himself.

John doesn’t know what to do but hold Henrik close and wait for this to be over. And he hates that, hates how powerless he feels; if he can’t even help Henrik, then what good is he?

He finds himself humming softly, the tune one he remembers having had hummed to him during a few rare and precious moments of peace when he was young. He doesn’t know that it’ll actually do Henrik any good, but anything that might help him calm down is worth a try.

After a while, he hears Henrik’s voice, quiet and worn out from all the screaming and crying. “John?”

John reaches a hand out and wipes a tear from Henrik’s cheek. “What is it, Henrik?”

“It hurts,” Henrik murmurs, “make it stop.”

John curses the ache in his chest at those words. He doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to do anything as badly as he wants to be able to give Henrik what he wants, to fix this, to make him better. But he can't.

Still, he can’t bring himself to admit to that when Henrik’s begging him like this. So, instead, he says “I’ll try.”


	8. are you hurting the one you love? and was it something you could not stop? (Day Fourteen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And how are you coping?”
> 
> John’s thrown off by that question. "What?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This (and the next chapter) really focuses on John's decline more than Henrik's, but make no mistake, I'm not letting either of them off easy any time soon. Also I'm not going to be skipping days much from here on out, because the further in we get to this fic the less opportunity there is to do that.
> 
> Title from Are You Hurting The One You Love? by Florence and the Machine. (If Heavy in Your Arms is the song for Henrik in this AU, then AYHTOYL is John's song.)

Today is Henrik’s second appointment with his psychiatrist, but the way this morning is going, John’s not sure he’ll even be able to get him out the door.

Henrik hadn’t gotten to sleep ‘til the early hours of the morning (and John even later), for one. That part wasn’t much of a surprise, as Henrik had slept much of the day away yesterday, his breakdown seemingly sapping all the energy from him.

John had been secretly grateful for it, then, because he didn’t want to have to keep on talking Henrik down from memories of his son. After all, who is John, the destructive force that he is, to tell Henrik that he’s safe with him, to pretend like he’s any better than Fredrik? (_You had to do it_, he’d tried to remind himself over and over throughout the day, _you didn’t have a choice, but Fredrik did_. Unfortunately, it never quite seemed to work.)

But when it was nearly three in the morning and Henrik hadn’t fallen asleep yet, it suddenly seemed like a much worse thing than it had in the daylight.

And things have been no better since they both woke up. It feels almost like it must be deliberate on Henrik’s part, everything that’s happened this morning to delay them. First he’d gotten agitated and upset when John tried to get him dressed after his bath, refusing to let John help him but at the same time visibly struggling to remember how to do it himself. It had taken nearly ten minutes of this before he finally gave in and let John clothe him. (He’d started crying, after that, silent tears running down his cheeks, and when John tried to reach out to dry them Henrik had only swatted his hand away, wordlessly asking to at least do this much for himself.)

Then, at breakfast, Henrik had accidentally knocked his glass of water over, and the contents had spilled all over John, forcing him to go and get changed.

They should’ve left fifteen minutes ago by now, and John knows being late would only make a bad impression on the psychiatrist. So he shoves a jacket, his socks, and his shoes on as fast as possible. Getting Henrik ready, though, is harder, as John doesn’t want to put pressure on him and make him anxious, but he does still need to hurry up.

They’re nineteen minutes late by the time they leave. John tries to keep his cool: he did plan to leave ten minutes earlier than necessary anyway, in case Henrik ended up having another panic attack and needed the extra time to calm down. If they’re quick, and if the trip goes smoothly, they should get there… well, maybe not on time, but close enough to be justifiable.

It all works out, albeit barely, and they head through the door labelled ‘_Mx. Riley Sterling, Consultant Psychiatrist_’, the door John’s all too familiar with now, only six minutes late.

“Hello,” John says in the friendliest tone he can, “sorry we’re late – the traffic was hell.”

Mx. Sterling nods in understanding. “Hello to you too, Professor Gaskell.” They glance in Henrik’s direction before adding “and hello, Henrik.”

(There’s an audible pause, there, and it makes John wonder if they were even going to greet Henrik in the first place or if this is just an attempt at ‘indulging’ John, like he’s wrong in believing that Henrik should be treated with respect.)

“So, how has Henrik been since I last saw him? Any changes – whether good or bad?”

“Well, as you know, it’s all relative now,” John says, as if he hasn’t seen for himself that Henrik’s undeniably getting worse. “But he’s been alright. There’s been some improvement; we now know for a fact that he consciously remembers Roxanna. We spent the evening reminiscing about her a few days ago – didn’t we, Henrik?”

“We did,” Henrik affirms. John finds himself feeling intensely grateful for it, that Henrik’s backing him up, regardless of whether he actually remembers or if it’s only because he recognises it’s what he’s supposed to do.

Mx. Sterling writes something down on their notepad, and looks to Henrik. “Henrik, have these memories been upsetting for you?” (John can just _hear_ the pity in their voice. If he could get away with it, he’d tell them off and take Henrik home right this moment. At least, he supposes, they’re actually asking _Henrik_ for once.)

Henrik nods timidly, squeezing John’s hand (which he’s been holding since they got out of the car) tightly.

Mx. Sterling turns to John and repeats the question. “Has he been distressed by these memories at all?”

“Yes,” John admits. “He’s had a couple of nightmares, and of course there’s been some crying. But it’s nothing I can’t handle, just normal grief.”

“Of course, I understand. How is his self-care?”

“It’s as usual,” John shrugs. “He just needs guidance, that’s all.”

“Anything else I should know about?”

“No,” John lies.

“And how are _you_ coping?”

John’s thrown off by that question. “What?”

“I asked how you’re coping with looking after Henrik. Because there are resources, you know, if you’re struggling, or need a break from the responsibility…”

John shakes his head. “That’s not necessary. I can’t pretend it isn’t hard, seeing him like this, but I’m doing fine.”

Mx. Sterling nods sceptically. “Okay. Well, one more thing we need to discuss – how’s Henrik’s medication working so far?”

John shrugs. “There hasn’t really been a huge difference, but he’s not been taking it for very long.” (In fact, Henrik hasn’t been taking the medication at all. John doesn’t see any point in drugging Henrik up – he just needs _time_, that’s all.)

“Any side effects?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’m afraid I’ve got another patient to see in a few minutes, so you’ll have to go now. Please remember to contact me if there’s any significant change in Henrik’s condition.”

“I will,” John tells them, though he knows he won’t.


	9. are you hurting the one you love? and if heaven knows, then who will stop? (Day Fifteen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John will be whatever Henrik needs him to be, of course, but looking after him has brought a special sort of baggage with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Announcement: The 1000-word limit is dead and I killed it. May it rest in peace. 😆
> 
> Fun fact, this chapter features a guest appearance from Essie. This is also my first time writing her. What can I say, I figured I needed a way to address what other staff members would think upon seeing Henrik for the first time since his breakdown, and Essie, willing as she was to believe anything John said in canon, seemed like an ideal candidate. 
> 
> For me to say much more about this chapter would give it all away. So just read on. Also if it's terrible, I apologise, I wrote this on essentially no sleep and it shows.
> 
> Title is, again, taken from Are You Hurting The One You Love? by Florence and the Machine. I figured it'd make sense, seeing as this is a direct followup to the last one (thematically speaking).

It’s a surprisingly warm day outside for October.

Henrik’s been doing well today, too, so John decides to try and get him out for once. After all, Henrik can’t stay inside (excepting, admittedly, psychiatric appointments) forever – okay, he can, but John doesn’t want him to. And besides, the fresh air might do him some good.

So John asks him about it, that evening, after he gets back from work. “Henrik, do you want to go for a walk with me?”

Henrik hums in uncertainty.

“We wouldn’t go far,” John clarifies, “and I’m sure we can find a quiet path.”

That gets Henrik to agree, and before John knows it, they’re walking through a rather desolate part of the city together, John checking a map on his phone every once in a while to make sure they don’t get lost.

Henrik’s holding onto John’s hand, refusing to let go. It makes John wonder if a passer-by or two might, perhaps, mistake them for lovers. He tries to disregard the way the notion of being thought of as Henrik’s partner makes his heart flutter – it’s certainly a better way to be thought of than as Henrik’s carer. John will be whatever Henrik needs him to be, of course, but looking after him has brought a special sort of baggage with it: all the pitying remarks about them both from others, the way some of John’s colleagues keep talking about Henrik like he’s dead and not merely ill (if John hears one more “Mr. Hanssen _was_…”, he thinks he might just go ahead and punch whoever says it), the so-called ‘sympathetic’ comments John hears that boil down to ‘_you’re so brave for taking on such a burden’_…

All of a sudden, a familiar voice rings out.

“John?” a blonde woman calls out to him, approaching quickly. It’s Essie. John automatically panics at the thought of one of his colleagues seeing Henrik in this state, even if it is one of his better days, and thinking that John isn’t good enough to take care of him – but then he realises he might actually be able to use her presence to his advantage. If there’s anyone likely to listen to every word John says, it’s Essie. It’ll help him deal with other staff members who may get suspicious; he’ll have someone to back up his claims of Henrik being reasonably alright.

“Ah, Nurse Di Lucca. What a surprise to run into you here,” he greets her.

“Please, this isn’t work, just call me Essie,” she smiles. “Oh – Henrik, hello! I didn’t see you from back there; you blend into the scenery, wearing all those dark tones…”

Henrik doesn’t acknowledge Essie’s words, and John glances back at him to find he’s looking off into the distance as if something has caught his eye (something that John can’t see, clearly, because he can’t spot anything particularly interesting when he looks in the same direction).

“Is he alright?”

John nods. “Yes, he’s fine. He just has a tendency to space out occasionally. Hold on a moment.” He tugs gently on Henrik’s hand. “Henrik, you remember Essie, don’t you? Essie Di Lucca, from the hospital?”

Henrik seems to come back from wherever he was after John touches him, and he nods in confirmation to the question. He doesn’t speak, but raises a hand and waves to Essie.

Essie waves back politely. “It’s nice to see you, Henrik. We’ve all been very worried about you back at Holby.” (John winces at Essie’s words. Not only are they spoken a little too softly, like she’s talking to a child and not someone who’s _older_ than her, but they’re just not true. Yes, lots of people have expressed concern for Henrik, but there are many more who seem to have given up on him already or who see his breakdown as something to gossip and laugh about.)

“Nice to see you, too,” Henrik repeats in agreement.

Essie smiles at him, then turns to John, lowering her voice. “Is this the first time he’s been out since…”

“Apart from…” John can’t bring himself to say the words out loud, to admit that Henrik's seeing a psychiatrist. That makes the whole situation feel too real. “Apart from _important appointments_, yes, this is the first time he’s properly gone out. I didn’t want to overwhelm him, you know, wanted to get him settled at home again first, I’m sure you know how he’s never been a big fan of sudden change.”

Essie nods in understanding, and says something to Henrik about how ‘brave’ he is, which only has John wishing even harder that she’d shut up. She then follows it up with a “you do really well with him.”

“I do my best,” John corrects her.

“It’s so kind of you to do this, to take him in and care for him. Can’t be easy.”

That has John’s blood boiling. He doesn’t know why people keep talking about this like Henrik is some sort of burden on him. “I’m just helping a friend.”

“Yeah, but it must be awful to have to see someone you care about in such a bad way at all. _Every day_… that takes a lot of courage.”

John wonders if Essie realises she’s only digging herself deeper. He’s tired of hearing all this, being treated as some sort of hero for looking after Henrik. Yes, it’s horrible to see him in this state, but that part doesn’t matter, does it? John can’t just… not take care of Henrik because it makes him feel bad, like everyone seems to keep implying is an option. Henrik has no one else left, and there is far too much risk with strangers:

  1. Henrik has never liked unfamiliar people, which is far more of a concern in the context of him having to rely on them for survival. It’s better he’s with someone whom he knows and who understands him.
  2. Other people might hurt Henrik. They might make him worse, or neglect to address his needs, or refuse to give him the physical affection he needs, or… John doesn’t want to even think about it.
  3. John needs to do this because he’s the reason Henrik is sick in the first place. He needs to atone, somehow, for what he’s done.

Especially when compared to all of that, John being upset at seeing Henrik struggle is nothing. This is the best choice, and John doesn’t care if it causes him some pain in the process.

Whatever Henrik needs, John will give it to him. It’s his duty.

“It’s nothing, really,” John says. He notices Henrik seems to be growing agitated, playing with John’s fingers nervously, his own hands trembling. It’s like a sign that this is their cue to leave. “I think we’d best be going, at any rate. Need to get back home for dinner. Bye.”

-

It’s almost exactly two hours after they get home that John gets a phone call. The moment he sees who – or rather, where – it’s from, he answers immediately.

“Hello?”

“Professor Gaskell! It’s Nurse Cardoso. We have some troubling news.”

“What is it?” John questions impatiently, an odd mix of angry and anxious from the lack of information. He needs to know what’s happened.

“Lana Albert’s condition is deteriorating,” the woman on the other end of the line declares with a sigh. “Her vital signs are bad. Her heartbeat’s been slowing; her BP has been worryingly low. She’s holding on, but we don’t know how much longer she’s got… you should come as soon as possible.”

“Thank you for informing me,” John says, and then he hangs up.

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do. He can’t go and help Lana, because that would require leaving Henrik. But he can’t bear the thought that all his work is going to be for nothing, he can’t bear the thought of losing Lana and disappointing her mother. John’s put enough people through unnecessary grief.

Were he alone, he might indulge his childish impulses and yell and throw things in his anger. But Henrik’s only a couple of rooms away, so he can’t.

_Fuck all of this_, he thinks. Fuck this whole situation. Fuck Henrik, in particular, for taking up John’s time, for acting like he has any right to lose his mind and inconvenience others with it, like he’s the only person who’s ever experienced trauma and like he can’t just get the fuck on with it like everyone else – for Christ’s sake, he's got it _easy_, _he’s_ not the one living with the guilt of being a murderer!

No. _No_, John tells himself, _this is wrong_. He can’t think about Henrik like this. It’s not Henrik’s fault that he’s sick. It’s not Henrik’s fault that his mind couldn’t cope with everything that happened to him. John’s a horrible person for ever thinking otherwise. He deserves all of this. Everything that’s happened to Henrik, to Lana, to Rox, it’s all been John’s fault. It’s always John’s fault. He destroys everyone in his vicinity.

The thought crosses his mind, just for a moment, that maybe he _should _just give up and find someone else to look after Henrik.

Of course, he wouldn’t dare do that, not really. But he knows, deep down, that all being under John’s care is going to do for Henrik is make him worse.


	10. i was singing without knowing the words (Days Seventeen to Nineteen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John hates it, hates how much of a _process_ understanding Henrik is now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised I managed to get this chapter done over the course of 24 hours tbh. This is barely 100 words shorter than the original fic AND there's a bunch of Swedish dialogue I kept double-checking. Well... triple-checking. Possibly quadruple-checking.
> 
> I included footnotes in this chapter so you can just click them for translations of the most important lines. The rest you can probably garner the general meanings of from the context, but feel free to ask about them if you'd like.  
Speaking of which, I pieced together the Swedish dialogue here from things I've learned on Duolingo, various translator programs, and occasional googling to make sure a phrase I used actually existed. I've probably still butchered a few lines though, lmao.
> 
> Oh, I nearly forgot to note - there's literally one line of mild self-harm on John's part. But other than that, no warnings, proceed as usual.
> 
> As is usual for this fic these days, I wrote this while very sleep-deprived, so if it's terrible... yeah, you know why.
> 
> Chapter title from Wolves by Josh Ritter.

John’s starting to grow exhausted.

While rationally he knows he can’t blame Henrik, he still feels a sense of resentment towards him for this, for making everything so hard, for needing John’s help too much for John to have any chance to get to Lisbon and help Lana. (At least, John attempts to count his blessings, Lana’s condition seems to have stabilised. There’s been no report of further deterioration, but she’s not getting better either.)

Maybe it’s better to say that John resents the situation. All of it. And he resents himself most for causing it.

Henrik had had another breakdown last night, and John hadn’t been able to identify the reason: Henrik had just suddenly started crying not long after John had put him to bed and then left to get ready for bed himself, so it couldn’t have been something John did himself that triggered it – unless Henrik was afraid of being alone, which is possible. John _had_ asked questions, trying to figure out why his friend was so distressed, but Henrik was in no state to respond to them, not even nonverbally: he’d only continued to cry and whine and whimper, so John never got his answer. Ultimately, though, he’d come to the conclusion that this particular breakdown was simply a result of Henrik being very tired and confused.

John hates it, hates how much of a _process_ understanding Henrik is now. If it’s not thinking through every possible reason for his actions and analysing the situation to figure out which is most likely because he can’t, or perhaps won’t, speak at that moment, it’s trying to make sense of broken speech or bits of various different languages (usually Swedish, of course, it being Henrik’s first language, but John thinks he's heard the occasional word or two of some others in there).

There’s a part of John that still can’t comprehend how Henrik, previously so eloquent, can be cut down to this, this wreck who can’t speak properly or keep his languages separate. Let alone how he could be cut down to it at_ John’s _hand (though if _anyone_ could break Henrik like that, John supposes it was always going to be him – it’s almost funny, he thinks, how he’s a surgeon with a talent for breaking things, and maybe it _would_ be funny if it hadn’t resulted in all _this_ – but he’d hoped he’d never have to see it happen).

He worries about it, sometimes, worries about Henrik either reverting to his native language for good or, even worse and unfortunately more likely, losing his speech entirely. He fears being unable to communicate with Henrik at all, has seen how frustrated Henrik gets when he can’t make himself understood – John doesn't want him going through that even more.

The universe, John supposes, is doing a damn good job of punishing him. He just wishes Henrik would be left out of it.

-

They spend the afternoon curled up on the sofa together, watching some silly romance movie on the TV. John might’ve put something else on, given the chance, but after what happened a few days ago he’s decided to stick to ‘safer’ programming, things that won’t set Henrik off. And the movie is entertaining, even if only because it’s cliché and cheesy as all hell and so John can silently make fun of it to himself as he watches. (And, okay, he might be slightly invested in the lead characters’ relationship. _Slightly_.)

There’s a love confession scene on right now, the woman pleading to the man she’s fallen in love with that she sees through his cover, that she’s loved him ever since they met, that if he doesn’t really love her can he _please_ just say it instead of leading her on. John thinks it’s ridiculous. They both look like they’re in their early 20s at the most, and they’re supposed to have met, what, a few months ago? They’re not _soulmates_.

The man on the screen, of course, says that he really does love her back, that he thought it was just a fling but he knows differently now, that he tried dating other people but it just wasn’t the _same_, and – oh, now they’re kissing.

John _wishes_ that were how love worked.

The movie is over a little more than fifteen minutes later, and it’s only a few minutes after that when John hears Henrik’s voice for the first time since yesterday evening.

“John?” he says quietly, tentatively, as if nervous about whatever he’s got to say, or uncertain that he should be speaking at all.

“Yes, Henrik?”

“Jag vet inte om det är den rätta tiden,” Henrik begins hesitantly.

John feels his heart drop. Fantastic. All his hoping and excitement at Henrik actually talking seems to have been for not much more than nothing. “Henrik, you _know_ I can’t speak Swedish—”

“Men jag har väntat länge nog, och jag tror att jag borde berätta för dig.” Henrik lowers his voice to a softer tone as he adds, “jag älskar dig.”  [1]

John sighs, frustrated. He hates it so much, when this happens. Henrik dropping into Swedish for a few words or so mid-sentence is one thing, at least John has some sort of predictor to help him figure out what he means there, but full sentences leave John clueless.

"John?" Henrik repeats, seemingly seeking a reply.

John doesn't say anything, though, because what is there to say? Whether Henrik will even understand him is up in the air, and he certainly has no idea what Henrik's on about.

"Lyssnar du inte?" Henrik questions, voice slightly harsher now with a hint of exasperation to it.

"Henrik..." John can't even find the words to continue. He's just so_ tired _of all this, and he doesn't want to hurt Henrik's feelings but he literally can't make sense of any of his words.

Henrik seems to give up, then, as he gets up from the sofa and leaves the room.

That only serves to make John feel guiltier. He tries to find a bright side: Henrik has done this before, left to be on his own when he figures out John can't understand him – whether it’s because he’s only speaking Swedish, or not speaking at all – obviously not wanting to deal with the frustration of not being understood any further. He'll be back in a couple of hours, and then he'll likely either have forgotten or be able to express whatever it was in English. (Hopefully the latter, as whatever this was, it seemed very important to Henrik.)

But then, Henrik seemed so rejected as he walked out the room, more so than John's seen him before...

_It's going to be okay, though, _John tells himself, _it has to be._

-

Henrik still hasn't left his room by dinnertime that evening, though. John, worried as he is that he’s done something wrong and Henrik doesn’t want to see him, comes in to let him know.

“Henrik? Dinner will be done soon, just thought I’d—”

“Jag kan inte förstå dig, det vet du,” Henrik mutters from beneath the bedsheets he’s practically buried himself in.

_Oh, brilliant,_ John thinks bitterly. So this is one of Henrik’s longer lapses into his native language, and they just have to wait it out. Sure, he’ll come out of it in a while, but seeing Henrik get so upset is hard on John, and not being able to understand him is even harder.

Henrik raises his voice slightly more as he asks “varför svarade du inte?”  [2]

“Henrik,” John says, as patiently as he can, “you know I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Henrik sounds shy, almost embarrassed, as he says “jag trodde att du älskade mig tillbaka, så jag…” Henrik trails off there, before continuing, “förlåt mig, John. Det var mitt misstag.” [3]

John sits down in the chair he’s placed close to Henrik’s bed. He hates this, hates how hurt Henrik sounds, and more than anything hates not knowing why. He can take rough guesses, knows that Henrik’s regretful about earlier, but he still doesn’t know for the life of him what earlier _was_ and why it was so important to Henrik.

John remembers how he had gone to Stockholm, once, a few years ago, for a medical conference, and he’d learned a couple of Swedish phrases beforehand in case anyone tried to make conversation with him on the street. After a bit of thinking, he manages to pull one phrase out from the trenches of his memory. “Jag talar inte svenska, Henrik,” he says uncertainly, hoping he’s not messing up the pronunciation too much.

Henrik nods in understanding.

That confirms it, then: Henrik isn’t comprehending John’s language, either. Otherwise he would’ve listened every other time John’s said he doesn’t understand.

He had hoped that wouldn’t be the case, because there are times where it’s not, where Henrik processes John’s speech perfectly but his mind just doesn’t cooperate when it comes to replying.

There are other times, though, when Henrik doesn’t seem to _understand_ English, let alone speak it. It’s a full-blown reversion, because while Henrik may have spent most of his life in English-speaking countries by now, it’s still not the language he first learned to speak, still not the one he’s been around since infancy: Swedish is his default, and that’s what his mind runs on nowadays – defaults and instincts and fragmented thoughts. John hates these reversions even more because it leaves them cut off on both sides until Henrik gets closer to lucidity again.

John digs his nails into his thigh through the fabric of his trousers. The flash of pain, and the sound of Henrik beginning to cry as the meaning of John’s words hits him, brings John back to reality, and he feels consumed by guilt for this, for being so caught up in his inability to understand Henrik that he’d forgotten to consider how much worse it could be on Henrik’s part.

At least John understands the situation. At least he isn’t the one stuck with a broken mind and a caregiver whose words he can’t recognise and who doesn’t recognise his either.

Henrik holds out his arms towards John, wordlessly asking to be held because physical comfort is all they have right now. John nods, pulls Henrik into his arms, and hopes this passes sooner rather than later.

-

It still hasn’t passed by the next day and John’s starting to worry. Henrik hasn’t lapsed into Swedish for this long before, only a few hours at the most, and it’s bringing John’s fears of Henrik permanently regressing into his first language to the forefront.

And if Henrik is losing his English, who’s to say he won’t lose all his speech? Who’s to say this isn’t the beginning of the end?

The language barrier is making it harder to take care of Henrik, too, because it’s more difficult to help him do things if John can’t talk him through it, and there’s only so much gestures can achieve. John wants to help Henrik keep as much of his independence as possible, but it’s so much harder when he’s like this. And he’d had a nightmare last night, one from which John couldn’t properly talk him down, could only hold him and murmur gently, hoping that the soft tone, at least, would help even if Henrik couldn’t understand the words.

So after work that evening, John gives in.

Before returning home, he makes a quick visit to a nearby bookstore, searching the ‘foreign language’ part of the nonfiction section and picking up a few different books on learning Swedish. He hesitates for a few moments before changing direction and adding a book on alternative communication to the pile. _Just in case,_ he tells himself.

He’s been putting all this off far too long already, he knows, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to research these options. It felt like giving up. It’s why he hasn’t sought out any of the resources that might help them in general: making proper adaptations to who Henrik is now is a little too much like admitting he might need those adaptations for life. Plus, John thinks he must be deserving of this, must deserve to be cut off from Henrik this way.

John realises, now, that he can’t afford to care about that. No matter how much it feels like giving up to him, no matter how much _he_ deserves this, Henrik can’t suffer for that. To carry on like this is to deprive Henrik of the ability, of his _right_, to communicate and have that communication understood, and John could never do that.

(Except, he knows, he already has. But to keep on doing it would be even crueller.)

So he’ll do whatever he needs to. Maybe this is just temporary, but that doesn’t mean it’s not leading to something worse, and even if it isn’t, enabling communication between himself and Henrik to be possible at any time can only be positive, can’t it?

If Henrik’s lost his English for good, John will learn as much Swedish as he can to communicate with him. And if Henrik loses that, too, John will find some other way to ensure they can still talk. It’s what he needs to do.

-

After spending most of last night making accounts on various language learning websites, John’s using his spare time this morning to research alternative communication methods. He’s thinking one of these symbol book things might be the best choice for Henrik, as most other options seem to involve usage of words alone and John’s tried to get Henrik writing things down enough times to know that anything involving writing or typing is out of the question for him – he seems to have trouble with words as a whole, not just with speaking them. And there’s the whole language problem, which most of the other ‘AAC’ devices John’s found don’t seem to be able to account for… (Henrik’s motor skills aren’t good enough anymore for writing, anyway, as he often seems to lack proper spatial awareness due to his loss of mental clarity. John has to admit, that gets to him. It’s a reminder that Henrik isn’t a surgeon anymore and likely never can be again.)

John’s brought out of all this contemplation as he hears the door creak and glances over to see Henrik enter the room. He puts the book down and minimises the browser window. “Henrik?”

Henrik silently sits down next to John and curls up against his side, reaching his hands up to play with John’s hair nervously. John doesn’t protest. It’s somehow pleasant, awkward, and upsetting all at once, how tactile Henrik is now – John’s always wanted this, this kind of touch from Henrik, but he knows that Henrik is simply clinging on to safety, simply wants John’s presence because he thinks his caregiver can protect him from everything. But regardless of the mixed emotions it stirs up in John, Henrik clearly needs the contact, so John lets him have it.

For a while it’s just the two of them sitting next to each other. Eventually, Henrik puts a stop to the silence, whispering “jag är rädd, John,” and breaking down in tears.

John may not have any knowledge of Swedish (yet), but he can hear the anxiety in Henrik’s voice, and that’s enough. So he wraps his arms around Henrik and holds him, letting him cry all he needs. For once, John thinks, maybe they don’t need words at all.

-

In the evening, Henrik seems to shut down, not speaking at all. John would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared, but, as always, he does his best to stay outwardly calm, not wanting to frighten Henrik.

John tucks Henrik into bed earlier than usual that night, hoping that more sleep might make him feel better and help him come out of this. “Goodnight, Henrik,” he says softly, and he gets up from the chair, about to leave the room. He’s midway out the door when he hears it.

“No,” Henrik pleads quietly, “don’t…” he stops, searching for the right word. In the end, he gives up and points at John. “Can’t _leave_. Want you here.”

John is almost too shocked by the sound of Henrik’s voice speaking English, even if it’s fragmented, to respond. When he remembers what he’s supposed to be doing, though, he walks back over to Henrik and takes a seat next to his bed. “Okay. If you want me here, then I’ll stay.”

Henrik doesn’t seem wholly satisfied by that, either, so he tugs at John’s sleeve with one hand and points at the bed with the other. “With me,” he clarifies.

John reluctantly climbs into the bed with Henrik, trying to ignore the voice in the back of his mind telling him _he wouldn’t want you sleeping in his bed if he knew who you really are and what you did to him._

He wants to tell that voice to shut up, but he can’t, not in front of Henrik, so instead he murmurs something about it being good to hear Henrik speaking English again. Henrik just gives him a puzzled look as if he has no idea what John’s on about, and John realises Henrik must’ve forgotten everything already.

“Sorry, ignore me, I’m tired and don’t know what I’m saying,” he tries to force a laugh. Henrik seems to accept the excuse.

_One step forward,_ John thinks, _two steps back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1.] "Jag vet inte om det är den rätta tiden, [...] men jag har väntat länge nog, och jag tror att jag borde berätta för dig. Jag älskar dig." = "I don't know if it's the right time, but I've waited long enough, and I think I should tell you. I love you."  [back]
> 
>   
[2.] "Varför svarade du inte?" = "Why didn't you respond?"  [back]
> 
>   
[3.]"Jag trodde att du älskade mig tillbaka, så jag... förlåt mig, John. Det var mitt misstag." = "I thought that you loved me back, so I... forgive me, John. It was my mistake." [back]  



	11. how do i save you from the things i've been? (Day Twenty)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But it’s only now, standing outside the bedroom door awkwardly trying to decide if he should go in or not, that John hears what essentially confirms his worst fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, not having to do any complicated formatting for this is such a blessing after that last chapter.
> 
> Anyways, here's more Pain™. Enjoy, or whatever. Look, I've been up since 2am and my brain isn't functioning. Just take the fic lol. Also this takes place right after the ending of the last chapter, jsyk.
> 
> Title from Save You by Emilie Autumn.

John wakes up that morning to the sensation of arms around him, his head buried in someone’s chest, and his legs entangled with someone else’s.

He then realises that someone is Henrik, and he wonders, groggily, about what happened for them to end up in this position. He certainly doesn’t mind it, regardless, and he nuzzles his head closer into Henrik’s shoulder—

Or at least, he’s about to.

But then he remembers why he’s here, remembers the last few weeks, remembers Henrik pleading for John to sleep with him last night because he didn’t want to be alone, and realises they must’ve both just shifted around a lot in their sleep to end up like this.

And suddenly, everything about this is a lot less pleasant. John’s scared to move from the position, though, because Henrik’s still asleep, and he doesn’t want to wake him. He glances over at the clock – a navy blue analogue one that Henrik doesn’t get much usage out of anymore, seeing as he can’t read it a good 95% or so of the time and the loud alarm only serves to upset him so it’s been turned off, but John can’t bring himself to tamper with any of Henrik’s stuff so they’ve kept it anyway – and sees it’s only a little over ten minutes before he typically gets up. Okay, fine, he can probably handle this if it’s just for ten more minutes.

Before those minutes are through, however, John has to roll over, because his muscles are starting to ache, and the movement gets Henrik shifting and yawning, eyes blinking open with a clear dismay at the realisation that he’s not holding John against him anymore.

“Good morning, Henrik,” John offers in lieu of an apology.

“Morning,” Henrik repeats, shutting his eyes again, ready to go back to sleep.

John knows how tired Henrik must be – no amount of sleep is enough for him nowadays, even on the good nights – and considering how much he suffers in his waking life, John thinks it might be fairer to just let him sleep so he can, hopefully, have some refuge.

But realistically, doing that is not an option. John only has so much time to get Henrik clean and fed before he has to get to work, and it’s best for Henrik to stick to a normal routine as much as possible. So John tugs lightly on Henrik’s arm, and, still in a less-than-coherent sleepy haze of his own, says “come on, dear, time to get up.” He climbs out of bed himself and reaches his hand out to Henrik.

Henrik reluctantly complies, rubbing at his eyes as John pulls him up.

-

Henrik, unfortunately, isn’t so compliant when he comes to full awareness (or as close to it as he gets these days).

He’s been frantic all morning, panicking when John leaves him alone for so much as a moment, his gaze often darting around the room like he’s searching for something.

But mostly what John has in mind is that he’s been trying to talk Henrik into getting into the bath for something close to twelve minutes by now and there’s no sign of it working. Henrik is just shaking his head anxiously, body trembling from what John can tell is more than just the cold atmosphere of the room, breathing fast and shallow, backing away as far as he physically can. It’s like he’s scared of it, and John can’t figure out _why_ for the life of him.

Until it hits him that, with all the bad experiences Henrik’s had with bodies of water, first with his mother and then nearly drowning himself, maybe this is just too similar for him in his dissociated state. This hasn’t happened before – Henrik’s been (understandably) resistant to John bathing him on occasion, of course, but never downright _fearful_ – but then, the only thing consistent about Henrik’s state of mind nowadays is that it’s all over the place, and he doesn’t seem to differentiate much between past and present nowadays, so it’s entirely plausible…

“Henrik,” John asks gently, “is it the water that’s scaring you?”

Henrik nods.

John pushes aside the part of himself that wants to cry at this, at the mess he’s gotten Henrik into, and thinks, once again, that if he’d known Henrik would bear all the collateral damage of his actions like this, he never would’ve done any of it. “Well, there’s no need to worry, alright? You’ll feel a lot better afterwards. Nothing will happen to you, I’m gonna keep you safe. Besides, the water is shallow, so it would be really hard for you to get hurt.”

“Really?” Henrik inquires doubtfully.

“Really,” John says, with all the confidence in the world because _nothing_ is going to happen to Henrik, ever, not if John can help it. “Okay, will you let me undress you now so we can get you clean?” (He still can’t bring himself to ask these things without clarification on why. He knows it’s not really necessary, but it’s more for his own sake than Henrik’s – anything else sounds a bit too much like questions he’d asked, or had asked _to_ him, in fantasies and dreams he doesn’t want to speak of, questions about things Henrik could no longer properly consent to even if he did love John back.)

-

John has a hard time getting Henrik to let him go out for work later that morning, and when he comes back in the evening it’s not much better. Henrik doesn’t want to be on his own at all today.

Days like this are always difficult for John. He’s happy to hold Henrik, and let him cuddle him, and let Henrik follow him around as he does all the household tasks that need to be done, but it’s just not practical for them to do that all the time.

And Henrik needs so much reassurance, seemingly afraid of everything and paranoid that something will happen if he lets John out of his sight. John has to admit, it’s exhausting. He thinks it’s incredibly selfish of him to feel that way, and he would do anything for Henrik no matter what, but with everything else that’s weighing on his mind, and the knowledge of Lana’s deterioration hanging over him, it’s starting to feel like too much to deal with.

-

John finally manages to get Henrik calm enough to be alone for a while later that evening.

It’s a half-hour after that, when he goes to check on Henrik and hears talking from inside the bedroom, that he’s thrown into confrontation with something he knew but hadn’t wanted to accept.

It’s not that this hasn’t happened before. It has. John’s heard Henrik mumbling to himself every now and then throughout these last few weeks.

But it’s only now, standing outside the bedroom door awkwardly trying to decide if he should go in or not, that John hears what essentially confirms his worst fears. He can’t make out all of what Henrik’s saying, as his speech is quiet and John’s not even sure it’s entirely English, but from the words and phrases he can pick out, sounds like part of a conversation, one that there’s no one else there to carry on.

And then, as he slowly, uncertainly opens the door to approach Henrik, who’s stood close to the wall and looking, almost deliberately, at nothing, he hears a “—yes, Roxanna, I—”, and the words after that are ones John can’t hear but it doesn’t matter. He’s heard enough.

He knew this, deep down, has for a while now. The paranoia, the staring off at things that aren’t there, the talking to himself – all these were basic signs of psychosis that any doctor would recognise, nevermind one with personal experience. And God knows what John might have missed whenever he’s at work.

John just really, really didn’t – hell, still doesn’t – want to believe this. He doesn’t want Henrik to have to deal with this. This isn’t how the world’s supposed to work. John’s supposed to experience all this, but not _Henrik_.

But if Henrik’s looking at things that don’t exist and talking to dead women, John can’t go on denying it, can he?

Maybe this is the reason for some of the ostensibly spontaneous crying and breakdowns, too. Maybe Henrik’s seeing bad things, too, or things that upset him, maybe he’s been getting so distressed because he doesn’t understand what is and isn’t real—

How could John ever have cursed Henrik with this? It’s one thing for _him_, he’s used to it, but Henrik isn’t and he’s in no state to recognise what’s happening to him either.

John is as careful as he possibly can be as he walks towards Henrik and lightly taps his shoulder. “I’m afraid she’s not there, Henrik,” he says, knowing it wouldn’t help matters to remind Henrik of the full truth, “Roxanna isn’t here right now.”

“She isn’t?” Henrik asks. He sounds too _fragile_. John doesn’t like it.

“No, she’s not.”

“But – why is she _there_? I _see_ her, she’s…”

John sighs. He doesn’t know how to explain this to Henrik, and especially not right now, when he seems so confused and is struggling to process John’s words, and when the slightest mistake will only make things worse. “You aren’t very well, Henrik. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

“I… I am?”

John nods.

“How do I… know? If something is really there?” Henrik flinches back in panic, as if he’s realised something. “Are _you_ there?”

“You’ll learn how, I promise," John says, as if there's any likelihood of that happening when Henrik has the memory problems he does, "I’ll help you. I fi…” it suddenly occurs to him just what he’s saying, and he switches words last-second. “I _think_ maybe touching things could help. Okay, can you still see Roxanna?”

“Yes,” Henrik admits shyly.

“Try touching her arm.”

Henrik listens to John’s request, reaching out.

“Can you feel anything?”

Henrik shakes his head.

“Okay, now mine,” John says. He hates the way he’s saying it, hates how gentle he has to be with Henrik now, because it’s one thing to treat him like that because he _deserves_ it and a whole other thing to do it because he _needs_ it. But still, it’s better than the last few days, better to have to talk to Henrik with the same soft tone he’d only use for children or for his most vulnerable patients (_isn’t a vulnerable patient what he is now, though?_ some part of John thinks, and he wishes that part of him would shut up) than to not be able to talk to him at all.

Henrik brushes his fingers across John’s arm and sighs in relief. “You _are_ there.”

“I am,” John affirms.


	12. i did not choose him, he did not choose me; we have no chance of recovering (Day Twenty-One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting Henrik out of the car, unfortunately, proves to be a lot more difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that I have much to say about this chapter, except that I hope it's decent.
> 
> Title from Hospital Beds by Florence and the Machine (which is a cover of a song by Cold War Kids).

John is desperately hoping that today will be a good day.

It feels like Henrik hasn’t had one in ages, though John knows it hasn’t actually been too long. But still, any set of temporary lapses is petrifying these days, because it’s so hard to tell what is just a series of bad days and what is an actual decline.

Plus, time seems to pass a lot more slowly these days. (And yet, it also feels faster – it’s not even been a whole month, not yet, since John last saw Henrik at work, last watched him perform surgery, since he last saw Henrik in a fully lucid and coherent state, but it feels like a lifetime. Henrik as he’s supposed to be feels like little more than a blurry memory now, and John is so damn _terrified_ of that, terrified of getting so used to this shattered man who hasn’t got the motor skills to tie his own shoes that he begins to forget the brilliant, smart surgeon who he knows is still in there somewhere. Or he thinks he knows. If John’s honest – not that that’s something he’s much good at being – it’s hard to be sure that Henrik, the _real_ Henrik, is in there anymore.) So a few bad days feels more like a whole fucking year of them.

But they can’t _afford_ for today to be a bad day. They can’t afford for Henrik to revert to speaking Swedish, they can’t afford for him to start talking to nothing. Any of that would only serve to further the idea in the psych team’s heads that caring for Henrik is somehow too difficult a task for John.

Thankfully, there’s been no sign of anything that bad as of yet. Henrik has been fragile and easily upset, as always, but it hasn’t been hard to calm him down, he was able to feed himself at breakfast this morning (John tries not to think too hard about how that is apparently an achievement now), even managed to mostly get himself dressed – although John did need to help him with any buttons.

So as they get ready to head out the house that afternoon, John finds he actually isn’t too worried. Henrik listens as John instructs him in what to do and doesn’t try to push back when John buttons his coat and laces his shoes. He does get somewhat panicky when they actually walk out the door, but the sound of John’s voice reminding him where he is and what they’re doing, telling him he’ll be alright as he helps him into the car, seems to relax him.

-

Getting Henrik out of the car, unfortunately, proves to be a lot more difficult. John thinks it’s nothing he can’t handle, at first, as Henrik doesn’t seem particularly upset, just shivers faintly with nervousness when John pulls up in front of the hospital.

Then John opens both of the front car doors, gets out himself, closes one of the doors and walks over to the other side to help Henrik out.

Henrik doesn’t seem to react at first, but a few moments after John closes the other door, he begins to cry.

It starts with silent tears and John really hopes it won’t escalate. But the world has never listened to what John Gaskell wants, let alone to what is best for Henrik Hanssen, has it?

So when Henrik’s crying turns to yelling and wailing and collapsing into John’s arms, John isn’t surprised, not truly, just very saddened by the situation.

That doesn’t stop him, however, from muttering “please, Henrik, no, not here,” as he wraps his arms around Henrik, partially as a gesture of comfort and partially to physically support him because he knows by now how draining this is on Henrik.

Henrik getting like this in public is even worse than in private, because here people are _staring_, John knows they are. And John knows that many of those people likely recognise one or both of them, and he hates that so much: the idea of other people seeing Henrik like this is so _wrong_ – it feels intrusive enough for John to see him like this himself, but other people watching, seeing it as some subject of gossip, making a mockery of Henrik for being sick…

“Come on, Henrik, it’s alright, I promise,” John murmurs tenderly, “it’s safe here, you’re safe with me.”

Henrik doesn’t seem to pay much heed to John’s words, though, just continuing to scream and cry. John hates, hates, _hates_ it when Henrik is like this, hates seeing him so overwhelmed with pain and confusion and fear, and hates that no matter how hard he tries to calm Henrik it’s ultimately a matter of just waiting it out.

John slowly raises a hand and begins to stroke his friend’s hair. “Hush, hush, it’s all okay. Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs when Henrik screams again, “you poor, poor man… I’m sorry; I swear I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t need to.”

“Is everything alright?” an unfamiliar voice asks, and John manages to take his eyes off Henrik to look. The asker is an old woman – she looks no younger than sixty-five at the least – with a bright red coat on, and an expression of concern on her face.

Brilliant, so John’s nightmares are coming true. He prays she at least didn’t hear his last sentence. He feels mortified at having let such a nickname slip out, let alone if anyone _heard_… “Look, I’m sorry about the noise, I know it must be annoying, but please don’t judge us, he’s not been well, okay?” he says all in one breath, “he doesn’t _understand_, he—” Henrik whimpers loudly, bringing John’s focus back to him. “Ssh, ssh, it’s alright.”

“I wasn’t judging, don’t worry,” the woman answers, “I know how it is. I used to look after my wife before she got too sick and…” she looks down, painful memories blatantly coming to the forefront. “She had dementia so, well, I’m all too familiar with the stares.”

It’s at this point John realises this woman doesn’t seem to know who either of them are. He’s kind of surprised at that, he’s something of a household name these days what with Lazlo and the trial and everything, and Henrik may not have been on the same level but he’s not unknown himself (especially after the end of last year, when the world suddenly became all too familiar with him, although that was for all the wrong reasons). That somehow makes it the slightest bit more manageable, though, to be stuck in this conversation. “Oh, er, he doesn’t…”

“I know, I didn’t want to make assumptions. I’m not saying it’s the same thing - but I know how it can be with other people around.”

“Severe post-traumatic stress, that’s what the doctors call it,” John says. ‘The doctors’ haven’t actually found a diagnosis for Henrik, not yet, and John thinks they’d be hard-pressed to find one when Henrik’s situation is so specific – but it’s easier to call it a term that might not be wholly accurate but at least paints the picture than to call it nothing at all. “He’s been through a lot, that’s all.”

The woman nods.

John then turns his attention back to trying to reassure Henrik and drops his voice lower and softer: “come on, it’s okay, I won’t let you get hurt… oh, _Henrik_, please don’t cry…”

“How long have you two been together, then?” the woman inquires when Henrik finally seems to have quietened a bit.

John’s head jerks up again at that. “Oh, no, we’re not – he doesn’t swing that way.” He notices Henrik growing fidgety and uncomfortable. That immediately makes John wonder just how much of this Henrik is listening to and understanding. He kind of hopes, unlikely as it may be, that it’s the ongoing conversation with a stranger that’s putting Henrik off so much and not the suggestion that there might be something romantic between them – or that there could’ve been before all of this, anyway.

“And you?”

“None of your _business_, is it?”

“Fair enough, I just noticed how gentle and in sync you seem with one another and… Sorry for all this, you both probably want to be alone right now, don’t you? I was just worried and wanted to check in.”

“I appreciate it,” John says, though he’s not exactly certain he _does_. As the woman turns to walk away, he adds “I’m sorry to hear about your wife, by the way. A friend of mine suffered from the same thing. It’s a horrible disease.”

Once the woman’s gone, Henrik pulls himself tighter against John, still weeping (and in fact only doing so harder than before).

“Sorry, Henrik,” John apologises, “I didn’t think she’d stick around so long. I know, I know, you don’t like being around strangers, and what she said about thinking we were together – that was just _ridiculous_.”

Henrik shakes his head frantically, pointing at himself with one hand and then at John with the other, then clasping his hands together.

John has no idea what it means (which only serves to remind him that he needs to get that AAC thing sorted out already, so Henrik can communicate with him better), so he takes his best guess. “Yeah, she doesn’t understand a thing about our friendship, does she?” he forces a laugh.

Henrik shakes his head again, and for a moment John thinks it’s simply an answer to the rhetorical question, but he can see the same sort of frustration in there that he sees whenever Henrik tries to get something across that John can’t understand.

John changes the subject instead of letting Henrik get frustrated further. “Let’s get you inside now, alright?” he reaches out and wipes the tears from Henrik’s cheeks with his hand. “It’s alright; you’re just here to see some of your psychiatric team. I know, they aren’t very good with you, but you have to be patient with them. They are _trying_ to help, they just don’t know what you need. Which isn’t your fault, of course.”

Henrik nods and lets John lead him inside.

-

The appointment, in John’s opinion, goes terribly. Mx. Sterling, and the social worker they’d brought in whose name John has already let himself forget, had spent so much of it talking about ‘potential treatment options’ for Henrik right in front of him, without his input. Yes, Henrik isn’t in any frame of mind to be making those decisions on his _own_, but surely he should still get to have a say? They’d even suggested fucking _ECT_, as if John would ever even consider letting Henrik be electric shocked into potential brain damage, further memory loss, or any number of possible horrible side effects.

This only goes to reinforce what John already knew: the supposed ‘professionals’ don’t give a damn if they hurt Henrik, and it’s best for John to care for him no matter how much he gets asked if he’s sure he can manage it.

It’s not long after they get home, however, that John finds himself second guessing that last part.

Because barely half an hour after they get through the door, Henrik freezes up completely.

He doesn’t respond to John’s attempts to bring him back to himself, whether verbal or physical, and he won’t move, and John is so, so scared. If Henrik is going to regress into catatonia again, John’s not going to be able to go on the way he has. Henrik needs full-time care as it is, really, but John has work, too, so they can only do their best to work around it. But if Henrik’s worsening again, John’s not going to have any other choice. Henrik can hardly take care of his own needs as it is, but at least he can move and make sounds, if not speak, to alert John when he needs something. If Henrik can’t do that anymore, then John needs to be with him as much as possible to keep an eye on him.

John will, he realises with horror, have to quit work. Well, not before he’s used his position to his advantage to get a hold of whatever medical equipment Henrik needs, but after that, it’s either put Henrik away in hospital or some sort of residential care, which John could never do, or give up the work… which John thought he could never do, but now he finds himself reconsidering.

He’s already seeing images in his mind of Henrik’s first few days on the psych ward, of him laid, still and unmoving, in the stark white hospital bed, hooked up to various IVs for nutrition and hydration and medication and to other tubes John doesn’t want to think about, nurses coming in every couple hours to turn him over…

Would the same life, but in his own house, really be any better for Henrik? Would it even be right to make him live out his life like that? If he’s still aware, in these states, he must be utterly miserable and afraid, surely. And if he’s not there at all… John’s not sure he can handle caring for an empty shell of the man he loves.

But then, John doesn’t, can’t, know the answers to any of this, and if Henrik has any awareness, any grip on reality at all, John has to do his best to make him comfortable, doesn’t he? He’ll talk to him and read to him and do whatever he can, because he cannot give up on Henrik. He said he wouldn’t let him go and he meant it. He’s not breaking his promise now.

After nearly an hour of John contemplating every possible option, Henrik comes back to himself, as John realises when he feels an arm around his shoulders.

“Henrik, don’t do that—” John begins once it sinks in that he hasn’t lost Henrik, not just yet, “not the, not the touching, that's fine, but – the catatonia. You scared me, Henrik.”

Henrik glances away as if ashamed of himself. “Sorry,” he says quietly.

“No – no, don’t be,” John insists as he puts an arm around Henrik himself. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you didn’t mean to do it, now, did you? I just meant I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

(None of this actually serves to alleviate John’s fears, though. Just because Henrik’s come out of it now doesn’t mean he will next time. There’s so much uncertainty around everything right now, and John can’t stand it.)


	13. there's nothing i can do but wait; locked up in my mind, i can't escape (Day Twenty-Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s okay with all this. Henrik needs the rest. What he isn’t okay with is Henrik evidently being in a low mood, and especially with not knowing the cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever - this chapter really had me stuck. I'll try to get the next chapter out soon to make up for it.
> 
> Chapter title from Mercy/Gatekeeper by Hayley Kiyoko. (If you thought I was done with the Hayley Kiyoko titles, I'm afraid you were wrong.)

John is woken up in the middle of the night by Henrik having yet another nightmare. It’s not quite a surprise, not anymore, this is a routine event by now, but it still hurts John to see Henrik suffering, and not being able to find peace even in slumber.

So John still finds himself with an onslaught of emotions to try and push aside as he makes his way to Henrik’s room to help him calm down.

Henrik doesn’t seem to have actually woken up yet, despite what John had thought; he’s just tossing and turning – and John’s pretty sure there are tears on his cheeks, despite him still being asleep, and that almost makes John want to cry himself – and frantically yelling something that John thinks must be in Swedish because he doesn’t understand any of it.

“Henrik, come on now, wake up,” John pleads softly, “you’re just having a bad dream.”

The words aren’t enough to wake Henrik, and he cries something out that sounds like a plea. There’s a word in the middle of it that sounds a little too much like ‘Fredrik’ for John’s liking.

John knows touching him right now would likely only make things worse, so instead he raises his voice a little, and firmly – but not harshly – says Henrik’s name.

That seems to do the job, as Henrik wakes with a jolt. Clearly still shaken from the nightmare, he thrusts a hand out towards John, and John thinks for a moment that Henrik is going to hurt him. He doesn’t make an attempt to pull back: one unpremeditated hit from Henrik is nothing compared to what John actually deserves to experience for what he’s done.

John preparing himself for a blow turns out to be futile, anyway, as Henrik grabs hold of his arm instead. “John? Tack Gud – du är säker. Jag trodde att han – han skadade dig också.”  [1]

John’s fairly sure he can pick out a couple words, having been doing what he can to learn some Swedish whenever he has spare time (which isn’t often, these days, but that won’t stop John from trying), but he can’t pick out anything that actually lets him decode what Henrik means. But from the few words he can pick out, and Henrik’s relieved tone, and the immediately touching him, it seems like Henrik must’ve been dreaming about him coming to harm.

(Which makes sense as something Henrik would have nightmares about, John supposes, since he’s the only person Henrik’s got left now. It’s still kind of hard to process that, that Henrik is so dependent upon John to look after him. John still doesn’t know that he can cope with having Henrik’s life in his hands like this. Things shouldn’t be this way.)

“I’m perfectly alright, Henrik, see? It was only a nightmare, it wasn’t real.”

Henrik just pulls himself over to the edge of the bed, as close as possible to the armchair John’s sitting in, and curls into a ball, resting his head in John’s lap.

John, trying not to blush, places his hands on Henrik’s shoulders and gently lifts him up into a sitting position, letting Henrik wrap his arms around John’s waist and nestle into the crook of his arm.

-

Feeding Henrik that morning is exceedingly difficult.

Henrik doesn’t seem to want to eat, first failing to attend to his plate, now turning his head away whenever John tries to offer him food.

John can’t help but find himself feeling frustrated with Henrik. He doesn’t want to have to pay attention to this task for any longer than absolutely necessary, but Henrik is preventing him from getting it done. At best, John supposes, it could be a pride thing, he gets that: he’d feel humiliated if he needed someone to feed him too.

But John’s seen that before, seen Henrik get embarrassed and frustrated with not being able to do things, and this doesn’t look like that. John’s not sure Henrik’s even lucid enough right now to care about it – he’d been entirely compliant with John washing him and getting him dressed not much more than half an hour ago, after all. John’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

This seems like a whole other thing, seems like a psychological issue. It looks like Henrik has lost his appetite, like he can’t bring himself to eat. It shouldn’t be a surprise, John thinks, Henrik displaying a symptom of an illness he’s suffered from for many years – but somehow it’s managed to come as an unpleasant shock to John anyway. And it might be a sign that Henrik’s getting worse, especially after yesterday…

“Henrik, please, you need to eat,” John begs. “I know, I know, it’s not a very nice task for either of us, is it? But the sooner you let me do this, the sooner it’ll be over, yeah?” He scoops a bit of food onto the fork and lifts it up so Henrik can see it. “Here you go – you like this, don’t you? You don’t have to eat it all, just a few bites for me.”

Finally, Henrik gives in and takes the food, albeit reluctantly.

“Yeah, that’s it, Henrik, you’re doing so well,” John tries to be encouraging despite the fact that seeing Henrik like this is almost physically painful. He still can’t quite make sense of the fact that this is the same man as that exceptionally gifted surgeon he’s loved for so many years. He feels more like he’s feeding an infant – hell, he might as well make fucking airplane noises too, it’s not like Henrik would care or be embarrassed, is it?

-

Henrik doesn’t seem to want to do much that day. He sprawls himself out on the sofa not long after breakfast, and just lies there for the remainder of the next few hours. At one point, John’s pretty certain Henrik falls asleep.

John’s okay with all this. Henrik needs the rest. What he isn’t okay with is Henrik evidently being in a low mood, and especially with not knowing the cause. He wonders if it has anything to do with whatever Henrik was upset about yesterday. (_If he even remembers it_, he thinks cynically.)

Not wanting to bother Henrik, who, for once, appears to desire to be left alone, John uses the time to get the dishes washed and the laundry done. When he’s finished with that, he heads to his bedroom, pulls out a book and loads an app on his phone, hoping to get some study time in, to practise Henrik’s native language so he can communicate with him better.

He’s on probably his hundredth attempt to pronounce a sound that’s been tripping him up when he hears footsteps outside the door, indicating that Henrik’s finally gotten up.

John plans to leave Henrik alone for a bit longer – if he wanted contact, he’d seek it out – but a few minutes later he hears quiet sobs not very far away. Worried, he puts down the book and closes the app, then walks to Henrik’s room.

He finds Henrik sitting on the bed, holding something in his hands. John quickly identifies that ‘something’ as Henrik’s stethoscope, which they’ve had mounted on a holder on the bedroom wall since John had to clear out Henrik’s locker at work (_like he’s fucking dead_, John had thought bitterly at the time, though now he supposes it’s not far from the truth).

It had been John’s idea, in fact, wanting the stethoscope in view as a reminder of Henrik’s achievements, as something to help remind him of his past. He thinks he might regret that now, watching Henrik run his hands across the tubing, then trace his fingers across the engraving of his name, tears making their way down his cheeks. It’s clear he remembers, on some level or another, what this meant to him, what it symbolises.

“Henrik…” John begins quietly. “Is everything alright?”

Henrik shakes his head, wiping a tear as it falls. “I miss it. Being – being doctor.” 

John doesn’t know what he should say, so he hesitantly sits down next to his friend. (He wonders whether this is what Henrik's been upset about all day, or if seeing the stethoscope has simply set off another bout of sadness.) “I’m sorry, Henrik,” he says, and he means it, not just as an expression of sympathy but as an apology for being the one to take Henrik’s deepest passion away from him in the first place.

“You didn’t…” Henrik falters, growing frustrated that he can’t find the words he needs. Eventually he settles on a firm “not _your_ fault.”

John feels sick when he hears that. It _is_ his fault. And yet, he can’t admit that to Henrik, can he? Maybe Henrik wouldn’t remember afterward, but if he did… John doesn’t want to instil mistrust, even if it’s rightful mistrust, of him into Henrik, not when Henrik’s reliant on him and him alone. That could go disastrously wrong.

“Mm,” he hums in reply, because he can’t bring himself to say anything else.

Henrik lifts the stethoscope, putting the earpieces in, and then holds the base inches away from John’s chest.

“Henrik, you know I don’t…” John protests awkwardly.

Henrik nods, but then puts a finger to John’s lips as if asking John to just indulge him this one time.

And John has never been any good at not giving Henrik what he wants, so he lets Henrik put the stethoscope to his chest, shivering slightly when the cold metal touches him.

John swears it must be a good three or four minutes that they sit there like that, far longer than would be customary if Henrik were actually examining him rather than seeking out reassurance in familiar practices. He doesn’t allow himself to object, though, because if this is what Henrik needs to comfort him right now, he’ll let him do it.

Henrik eventually puts the stethoscope down.

“So what’s the verdict? Everything good?” John asks in a lighthearted tone, hoping to cheer Henrik up a bit.

Henrik smiles, amused by John’s attempt at humour (and John’s grateful it went over well, having started to fear about halfway through the comment that it would make Henrik feel worse), and nods. He then seems to regain his solemnity and leans into John’s side, putting an arm around him.

John’s still not yet used to this physicality from Henrik, he can’t say he ever will be, but he doesn’t pull away. Henrik needs this, so John will let him have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1.] "John? Tack Gud - du är säker. Jag trodde att han - han skadade dig också." = "John? Thank God - you're safe. I thought that he - he hurt you too."  [back]


	14. i just want it to be perfect, to believe it's all been worth the fight (Day Twenty-Three)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does it matter if he’s wearing himself out? He’s just not trying hard enough. He needs to push himself further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting really close to the end now, holy fuck. And I have concrete plans for how the last two chapters are going to go, so they should be up sooner rather than later. Don't know what I'm gonna do when this is over tbh...
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is a lot angstier than I intended it to be. That's just how it is with these boys, lmao. But yeah, trigger warning for very intense self-loathing and some suicidal thoughts on John's part.
> 
> Title, fittingly, from Lies by Marina and the Diamonds.

John is exhausted.

Henrik may have slept through the whole night for once, but John can’t say the same for himself. He’d awoken from a nightmare of his own an hour ago, only a couple of hours after finally getting to sleep, and he hasn’t been able to fall asleep again afterwards no matter how hard he tries. (He’s just grateful he doesn’t react to nightmares the same way Henrik does, stays quiet and still except for the very worst nights. Such complete self-control was a skill John had needed to learn early on, to avoid the consequences that came from being a nuisance, and, well, old habits die hard. As it turns out, that might be a good thing: if he’d woken Henrik when he was finally getting some decent rest, John’s not sure he could forgive himself.)

Add to that how this is just one night in a long pattern of sleep deprivation, and how much John has to _do_ – between working and taking care of Henrik… it’s rare John gets a moment to himself, rare he gets a moment to just _rest_.

But it doesn’t matter, not really. John just has to get on with it. It’s his own fault, anyway, for being so weak – he can’t let his own issues get in the way, not now. His focus needs to be on the two reasons he’s still going in the first place: Henrik, and the work. In the end, it’s always been about the work, and now it’s about Henrik’s wellbeing, too.

People _need_ John. Henrik needs him, Lana needs him, his patients need him. What does it matter if he’s wearing himself out? He’s just not trying hard enough. He needs to push himself further.

-

The morning is a relatively quiet one, thankfully.

Henrik seems to be having a better day than usual. He’s been zoning out a lot, and at one point he tries to start a conversation with someone who isn’t there, but it’s not anything John can’t manage.

He can deal with the pain when he’s stopped from leaving for work by a tug on his sleeve and a pleading look, really, he can. And he can deal with talking Henrik into letting him go; he can deal with the last two words he hears before closing the door being “stay safe”.

John can handle it. He has to.

-

He gets a call while he’s at work.

He steps aside into the staff room to answer it, knowing what it’s going to be and not wanting to hear any questions from others.

Unfortunately, knowing what the call was doesn’t stop the shock when John actually hears the words. After a while with no improvement but no further deterioration either, Lana’s condition has been worsening again. They say she has days, now, at best. They say John needs to get there. John says he’ll do all he can to find a way. John hangs up.

John slams his phone down on the table. Lana has days to live and there’s nothing John can do about it. Roxanna is dead and there’s nothing John can do about it. Henrik has lost his mind and there’s nothing John can do about it. All of these things are, in fact, John’s direct fault.

He feels utterly powerless. There’s _fuck all_ he can do about _anything_. In the past he would’ve come to Henrik for advice, but the man doesn’t remember how to button a shirt anymore, what use would he be now?

Maybe John _should_ have just drowned himself with Henrik all those years ago. Then he couldn’t have ruined anything further, and Henrik wouldn’t have had to face this fate.

God, John wishes David were here. David would know what to do, he always did, he was smart and strong and compassionate and had the answers. He was everything John wasn’t and had so many good things to give to the world instead of just ruining whatever he touched and John thinks maybe it should’ve been him who faced David’s fate instead. Or hell, even Rox, John may not have exactly liked her but maybe she’d know what to do— John just needs _someone_. He can’t do this on his own.

He gazes out the window and he swears he sees Henrik’s reflection staring back at him.

John turns around, picks up his phone, and leaves the room.

-

After returning from work, John practically collapses onto the sofa.

Before he knows it, he’s blinking his eyes open. There’s something soft on top of him. As he comes to, he realises it’s a blanket. He _knows_ it wasn’t there a moment ago.

He looks at the clock and realises two hours have passed. He should’ve made dinner ages ago. Goddammit, he can’t even fight his exhaustion for a little while to make sure Henrik gets food.

He’s been failing Henrik as a friend for thirty-one years. Now he’s failing him as a caregiver too.

“John?”

John looks up at the sound of Henrik’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Henrik. You should’ve woken me up, you know, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“No. You were tired.”

“That doesn’t matter, I would’ve been fine.”

Henrik doesn’t seem to like John’s reply, but doesn’t try to argue either.

“I’ll make dinner now, anyway,” John says as he gets up from the sofa. “Better late than never, right?” He tries to force a chuckle.

Henrik shakes his head. “Want to…” he pauses for a moment, before sighing and taking John’s hand. “Come with me.”

John lets Henrik slowly lead him through to the door, and then outside.

“Look,” Henrik says, pointing to the windowsill, and that’s when John sees it.

A week ago, John had impulsively bought some plant pots and seeds, knowing that Henrik had always had a penchant for gardening, and hoping that maybe growing something would let his friend feel some semblance of control in a situation where he otherwise didn’t have much. John honestly hadn’t expected the idea to actually work out at all, between Henrik darting in and out of any vague sense of lucidity and John’s own lack of ability to grow _anything_ (as he’d learned years ago in Trinidad).

And yet, one of the pots on the windowsill contains not only the stem that’s been slowly began to appear over the last few days, but a leaf has formed on the side of that stem. It’s small, and it’s no sign that the flower is going to make it anywhere near full growth, but it’s _something_. And if small joys with uncertain futures are all the two of them have now, then John can’t ruin that for Henrik.

So instead of pointing out the downsides, ones John’s sure Henrik still knows in the back of his mind somewhere, John squeezes Henrik’s hand gently and says “it’ll look even better soon, won’t it?”

Henrik nods with a sort of quiet enthusiasm that John doesn’t think he’s seen since before all this started. He missed it sorely, though, and it’s nice to just see Henrik being _happy_ about something again.

This only proves further, John thinks, that he needs to put the utmost effort into keeping up the act for Henrik’s sake. He’ll pretend the whole Lana situation isn’t happening. He’ll pretend he’s not growing tired from all he has to do. And, right now, he’ll pretend he knows this flower won’t die.

Because when it comes down to it, all John really wants is for Henrik to be happy. If he has to keep telling more and more lies to ensure Henrik can still find some sort of joy after everything, then so be it.


	15. so cling to me, and i will lead, i will guide you this time (Day Twenty-Four)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This entire situation makes John feel simultaneously useless and like he has far too much power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it: the penultimate chapter, and the one where a certain ongoing subplot is tied up. One more after this and then this fic is finished... it feels like I just started it yesterday!
> 
> I've gotta give some credit to prydon (aka Lucia, who, as you may remember, is one of the reasons this AU became a thing in the first place lol) for this chapter. She's actually something of a major influence on this AU as a whole, we've brainstormed a lot of ideas together that ended up being part of this fic, but this particular chapter's plot was directly her idea. So thanks, Lucia, for inspiring more Angst™. :D
> 
> Title from the English version of Glider by Kent.

John thinks he should know by now that any slight improvement in Henrik’s condition isn’t going to last.

Well, that’s not wholly true. He does _know_. He just can’t quite make himself believe it.

So it still feels bizarre when Henrik crashes down drastically after one of his most lucid days in a long while. It feels like retribution from the universe, a reminder of just how much he’s hurt Henrik, just in case he’d started getting his hopes up that his friend could improve. (Not _recover_, John knows that’s not possible any longer, but some part of him still prays for improvement, even if what that looks like now is Henrik forming a full sentence in English without any struggle or getting dressed on his own. John doesn’t mind, not really, if Henrik won’t ever return to work, if he’ll always need John to take care of him – John loves Henrik in any form, and if this is just the way it is now, then so be it. He just hates seeing Henrik suffer like this, hates seeing him get so distressed and frustrated when he can’t remember how to do things, hates how upset and overwhelmed Henrik becomes from traumatic memories he can’t fully process, hates how hard this clearly is on him.)

Take right now, for example. Henrik’s in the bath, and John’s sitting on the rim, washing Henrik’s hair. Henrik is obviously agitated, constantly shifting in his position, whining quietly every few moments. He doesn’t like this at all, and John understands why, knows that Henrik knows, on some level or another, that he used to be able to do this for himself. It must be horribly confusing, John thinks, to be suddenly rendered unable to do things you used to do every day and not know _why_ you can’t remember how to do them.

Or maybe Henrik does remember why. John’s not really sure. It’s hard to tell, especially on days like these when Henrik doesn’t speak. (John hopes that ‘AAC’ thing he’d ordered last night – picture exchange something-or-other, whatever the website called it – arrives sooner rather than later; he’s so tired of communication between the two of them being so difficult, and he knows Henrik is tired of it too.) John’s not sure which would be worse.

This entire situation makes John feel simultaneously useless and like he has far too much power. He’d asked, when Henrik started getting upset, if he should stop: Henrik had just shaken his head, and that’s when John had realised it wasn’t about what he was _doing_, it was about the fact that he shouldn’t have to do it in the first place. He’s repeated the question multiple times since then, and Henrik has continued to decline, but John still feels terrified of going against Henrik’s wishes somehow. Henrik is so vulnerable right now and it would be scarily easy for John to take advantage of that, even accidentally.

Yet, there’s nothing he can actually _do_ about it. John may have been the one who broke Henrik, but that doesn’t mean he knows how to fix him. He wishes he did.

-

Breakfast is even more difficult, Henrik not being in a clear enough state of mind even to recall what he’s supposed to be doing with his spoon, but refusing when John tries to help him, pushing his hands away.

It’s after a few minutes of this, when John notices tears in Henrik’s eyes, that he finally snaps. “Henrik, you know as well as me that it’s either come out of this or calm down and let me feed you. You don’t get to _do this_!” he shouts, voice rising rapidly. “You don’t get to shut down and make me invest all my time into keeping you alive – to the point of, of abandoning things I swore I couldn’t give up on – then refuse my help and cry about it! You wouldn’t have given a _damn_ if this happened to me!”

Henrik only starts crying harder after that. In the heat of the moment, that just serves to make John angrier.

“_You_ wouldn’t neglect your work to wash me and feed me and protect me from everything that might upset me! You _know_ you wouldn’t! I’m doing you a _favour_, Henrik – be grateful! Oh, wait; you probably don’t even know what one of those is, do you? You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter! From a rich family, to a high-paying job, to a friend who cares about you enough to be willing to look after you nearly 24/7 rather than just making you _snap out of it_… you’ve always had it all! I’ve only ever had one of those things and I had to fucking _fight_ for it, because we can’t all be geniuses like you! _You’re the lucky one_!”

The minute John finishes speaking, he’s filled with regret. How dare he? How _dare_ he yell at Henrik when he’s so fragile and defenceless, especially when he’s the reason Henrik’s in that position? Henrik can’t exactly argue back. John is the one with the power here, and he’s misusing it. He’s such an awful person.

Henrik hides his face in his hands, still sobbing, and makes a soft high-pitched sound that John’s pretty sure is one of regret.

John knows that at this point, he’s down to two options: fix this, or Henrik goes hungry. And the thought of hurting Henrik even further is devastating. “I’m sorry. That was completely wrong of me to say. I know it’s not really your fault; I didn’t mean it. I’m so, so sorry, Henrik.”

Henrik nods, and then he reaches a hand out and clutches at John’s shirt as if to say _I forgive you_. He still seems wary, though, shying away from John in apparent confusion about whether to trust him, refusing to meet his eyes as he clumsily hands the spoon over to him.

John simply places the spoon back in Henrik’s hand before gripping his friend’s wrist carefully and guiding him through the motions of dipping the spoon in the bowl and bringing it back up to his lips.

Henrik seems tired when they’re done, and nearly trips over his own feet as John leads him back into the living room. He’s quick to curl himself up on the sofa, picking up a book from the nearby table. He flips the book open and glances at the page.

John takes a seat himself, but first he picks up a blanket that’s in the way and carefully drapes it over Henrik, who takes it gratefully.

The room is still and silent for a moment, before Henrik groans quietly and puts the book down. He then picks it up again and holds it out to John.

John’s not sure what this means, exactly, but it can’t be good. Maybe Henrik’s forgotten, right now, how to read (John hopes not, doesn’t even want to think about the idea of Henrik experiencing that, it reminds John once again that this just isn’t the Henrik he’s known for so long), or maybe his comprehension of English is fading again. At best, maybe there were just too many complex words in the book for Henrik to understand, which is painful enough in itself compared to how articulate he used to be.

John takes the book, anyhow, and begins to read it out loud to Henrik. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity…”

Regardless of whether Henrik understands the words or not, he does appear to find John’s reading to be comforting, as he moves over to burrow himself against John and sighs contentedly, brushing his fingers across the fabric of John’s shirt, tracing the checkered pattern.

John wonders how Henrik’s grown so comfortable with him again so quickly. It was barely twenty-five minutes ago that he was yelling at Henrik and chastising him for things he couldn’t help. Either Henrik must have forgotten already, or he’s totally forgiven John now. John hates both options: one is a signal of Henrik’s decline and the other is a clear sign of some sort of Stockholm syndrome.

John throws himself into reading the book, adjusting the pitch and tone of his voice for different characters, trying to invest himself in the fictional world so he doesn’t have to confront the real one, doesn’t have to think about Henrik’s nervous breakdown and Lana’s forthcoming death.

-

The day doesn’t get much easier from there.

When John’s a few chapters into reading from the book, Henrik kicks the blanket away and starts tugging at the buttons of his cardigan in a silent request for John to take it off, seemingly having decided he feels too warm. John unbuttons the cardigan for Henrik and gently slips it off of him, but Henrik ends up in tears afterward, clearly distraught about his loss of independence, about being so reliant on John even for small things like this. John wants to cry, too, though he manages not to, as he quietly comforts Henrik and makes false promises about how this won’t last and how Henrik will get better eventually.

After that incident, Henrik does settle down a bit in the sense that he’s no longer resistant to John’s help – even if he’s still obviously unhappy about it and even if he still has crying fits for no apparent reason throughout the day and even if he still can’t speak.

To John, it seems like Henrik’s giving up.

John can’t blame him, because he’s giving up too.

-

John’s heart drops when he gets a call that night.

He’d _almost_ managed not to think about Lana, so caught up in just trying to keep Henrik calm and get him through the day, but the minute his phone goes off he remembers immediately.

He feels like he’s just watching himself as he answers the phone, and as he asks, despite knowing already, what the call is for.

“We’re so sorry, Professor Gaskell,” says the nurse on the end of the line, “but Lana Albert passed away at 19:07 this evening. We did everything we could.”

“Thank you for informing me,” John mumbles quietly as he hangs up.

Lana is _dead_. The thought runs through John’s mind over and over as he tries to make sense of it. He put so much time, so much effort, into trying to save her, and he failed. He’s let Lana down, he’s let her mother down, he’s let _everyone_ down.

Hell, he’s let himself down.

John thinks maybe he should just throw in the towel. Maybe this should mark the end of his career. He failed Rox, he failed Henrik, now he’s failed Lana: maybe it’s time he quits.

He has nothing left now, no reason to go on – except for Henrik. Retiring would let him give Henrik proper care, the kind he needs. They have enough money between the two of them to last quite a while. John could resign, find somewhere nice and peaceful for them to move to that didn’t hold bad memories for Henrik and where no one would bother them. Some remote area of Sweden, maybe, get Henrik back to his roots, to a place where he’s more familiar with the language. John would be able to monitor Henrik constantly, keep him safe, and care for him while they live out the remainder of their lives together quietly until whenever their time comes. It wouldn’t be that bad, John tells himself.

Oh, who is he kidding? It’s an insult to Lana’s memory to fantasise about using her death as an excuse to escape with Henrik when Henrik is the reason John couldn’t save Lana in the first place. He should’ve just gone for it, found someone to take care of Henrik for a bit while he went to Lisbon and saved Lana.

So, okay, maybe Lana would’ve died anyway. But John didn’t even _try_.

He can’t help but hate himself for loving Henrik so much, for not being able to bring himself to leave him.

He’s still swept up in all these conflicting thoughts somewhere around ten minutes later, when he feels an arm around his shoulders. _When did Henrik come in here? _he wonders. Maybe Henrik had been looking for him. John doesn’t know.

“John? Är allting—”

John near-collapses into Henrik’s arms, barely holding back tears, before Henrik even gets to finish his sentence. He wraps his arms around Henrik’s waist and just holds onto him as tightly as he can. He feels Henrik’s hand stroking his hair and at some point, John’s not sure when, Henrik lowers them both down onto the floor.

“I failed her, Henrik,” John finds himself choking out, “I’ve failed everyone, I’m sorry. She had so much of her life left to live – it’s not _fair_, I just wanted – I just wanted to save her.”

John’s not sure Henrik understands any of that, and he definitely wouldn’t know the actual meaning behind it, but he feels Henrik’s arms tighten around him after he speaks regardless.

Henrik shushes him gently and then starts murmuring something. “Det är okej, min älskling,” he hums softly, rocking John in his arms, “allt kommer bli okej.”  [1]

John doesn’t understand a word, especially not with how quietly Henrik is speaking, but the sound of Henrik’s voice is oddly soothing anyway. He buries his face into Henrik’s shoulder, and listens to the words of comfort.

Maybe it’s strange for him to think it, because Henrik speaking in his native language isn’t supposed to be a good sign and he’s had such an awful day, but somehow John thinks in that moment that Henrik seems more like himself now than he has in… since all of this started, really.

Even though John doesn’t deserve this comfort, especially not from the man whose life he’s ruined, he can’t bring himself to pull away. So he just sits there, tries not to break down sobbing, and lets Henrik hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1.] "Det är okej, min älskling, allt kommer bli okej." = "It's alright, my darling, everything's going to be alright." [back]


	16. i'm sorry but i fell in love tonight (Days Twenty-Five and Twenty-Six)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was his one chance to make up for everything, and he’s fucked it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is, the final chapter. I can't believe it's over, god. Technically this is Days 24-26, as the very beginning picks up right where the last chapter left off, but it's not a long enough part to really count I don't think.
> 
> Trigger warning: this chapter contains a lot of discussion of rape/sexual assault/sexual abuse. Nothing actually happens, but the topic is heavily discussed. I've put more details in the end notes, if you're worried about being triggered. I hope I don't come across as using it just for angst's sake, and if I do I'm very sorry; I know very well what a serious subject this sort of thing is and I don't want to seem exploitative.
> 
> I should also mention that there's a very brief reference to self-harm right at the start of this chapter, internalised homophobia is an underlying theme, and suicidal thoughts/actions are a major theme here seeing as this leads right into the end of the original oneshot. Basically this is very much a potentially triggering chapter, so please, do be careful.
> 
> Title from Is There Somewhere by Halsey.

Everything is a blur for the next hour or so.

John just clings on to Henrik for the longest time. He registers Henrik holding him and touching him gently and whispering words of comfort that John doesn’t understand, but that’s about it. He thinks Henrik checks his arms for cuts again, at some point. He’s not sure. All he can process, all he can think about is what a failure he is, how he’s disappointed Lana. Some part of his mind is screaming at him to let go of Henrik, to not force the man he loves to comfort John when it’s his own health he should be worrying about. John can’t bring himself to do that, though.

Eventually, however, they have to move from the position. John wishes it didn’t make his heart ache.

-

Henrik wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. As always, John is by his side in an instant, humming soothing words to Henrik as he trembles beneath the bedsheets, eyes darting around the room in panic.

“I – she – Roxanna, she…” Henrik stutters, stumbling over his words as he attempts to explain the reason for his tears. “I saw it _again_, I saw her – she’s not supposed to, uh, to… I don’t understand,” he admits. “Why did she…”

John does his best to ignore the guilt settling uncomfortably in his stomach. He knows why. He knows exactly fucking why, but Henrik doesn’t, _can’t_ know. So John lies. “I don’t know, Henrik. The world can be a cruel place, sometimes.”

Henrik grabs John’s hands and squeezes them tightly. He continues to sob, as John continues to murmur softly to him. Until, that is, Henrik’s crying ceases totally and abruptly.

“Henrik?” John asks fearfully. He removes his hands from Henrik’s grip, and Henrik doesn’t whine or try to fight it at all the way he so often does when John stops touching him. He just lies there. John has to move Henrik’s arms back to his sides himself.

It’s just what John was scared of, then. There’s little he can do about it but hope that Henrik will come back to himself in the morning, so he sits at Henrik’s bedside and sings an aimless, wordless tune to him quietly until Henrik’s eyes fall shut.

When all this started, when Henrik was catatonic for days and was on the psych ward, John remembers one of the nurses had told him that Henrik seemed to recognise him. He hadn’t responded to anyone else – not to anyone else who visited him, and not to any of the psych staff – at all, that’s what the nurse said. But when John was around, Henrik apparently seemed more present in a way the nurse admitted to not being able to explain, and the tension in his body would ease slightly.

John didn’t believe it then. He doesn’t believe it now. But it’s a nice thought to contemplate, that maybe he can still reach Henrik in some way even when his friend is at his worst, that maybe Henrik fell asleep not naturally from exhaustion, but as a result of listening to John’s voice.

-

Henrik _is _better when he wakes up, thank God, and he’s able to take a shower and later eat on his own with John’s supervision and instruction rather than physical assistance, which is something.

John is off shift today, so he spends most of the morning and afternoon with Henrik, lets Henrik assist in getting chores done like watering the plants and helping John fold newly dry laundry. (And in some odd way, John is proud when he demonstrates to Henrik how to fold the shirts and Henrik not only picks it up like he never forgot but _repeats it_ without needing another reminder. It’s a miniscule task, yes. Henrik’s brain will likely lose the information in the next few hours, yes. But Henrik hasn’t been able to perform a task multiple times after only the first reminder of how to do it before. It's a small step, but a positive one.)

Henrik is quiet, still, doesn’t talk very much and when he does he’s clearly struggling to string words together. It scares John, when Henrik gets like that, makes him fear that Henrik is losing his speech. He’s scared that there will come a day where he hears Henrik’s voice for the last time and he won’t even realise until long afterward. And a few times, Henrik just stops whatever he’s doing to look at something that isn’t there.

And John’s still stuck in a blurry haze, himself: it feels like his failure to save Lana is a heavy fog covering his every thought, his every action.

But Henrik’s _doing things_ and _remembering things_, and John knows it’s not going to last, but right now that makes everything feel a tiny bit brighter.

-

Late into the afternoon, John finds himself in Henrik’s bedroom, sitting next to Henrik on the bed, reminiscing with him – or _to_ him, really – about their past.

Right now, he's talking about the day they both found out they passed their final exams at Rigden, and about how he might have been happier for Henrik that day then he was for himself. (And it’s true: John had known his own success was good news – he had wholly expected to fail, in fact – but it was Henrik’s success that had truly brought John joy, because he knew how much Henrik _deserved_ it.)

A while after John’s done recalling the story, Henrik moves over to John and tries to cuddle into his side. John puts his arm around Henrik, awkward as it feels, because he knows it’s what Henrik wants, and because it _is_ nice – John just doesn’t deserve it.

And then Henrik brings his head level with John’s and leans in closer.

Before John can register what’s happening, there are lips pressed to his, and John finds himself returning the gesture, and it feels so right, and, and, and—

Suddenly Henrik’s hands are on John’s waist and that makes John realise what’s happening and no, no, no **_no no no no_** – this is _wrong_! Henrik isn’t in his right mind, he can’t consent. What the fuck is John doing?!

John pulls away immediately, breaking the kiss. “_No_, Henrik. No.”

Henrik’s face falls at that. He looks so confused, so upset, so… _rejected_.

And John **_hates_** it. This goes against his every instinct, his deep, burning love for Henrik, his intense need to give him what he wants, but he can’t give in, not to this.

_This_ isn’t what Henrik wants, anyway. Henrik doesn’t want John, he wants Roxanna. John accepted long ago that that’s the way things are.

And yet… Henrik just kissed him.

Henrik must be worse than John thought. A hell of a lot worse. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

John simply shakes his head at Henrik. “Please. No. Not when you’re like this. You aren’t well, you can’t give consent.”

But then, it’s no wonder Henrik doesn’t seem to understand why John pulled away: John’s already shown a disregard for Henrik’s inability to consent properly, by kissing back.

What a sick, twisted man John is. Taking advantage of his heterosexual best friend’s confused state of mind like that. He should’ve just stopped Henrik immediately.

Of all people who should know better than to violate someone like this…

John gets up from the bed and flees the room, running as far from it as he can, eventually stopping when he gets to the kitchen.

He grips the counter in an attempt to steady himself.

And then, he cries. It’s as if all the tears he’s been bottling up for the entirety of this last month are coming out at once and he can’t stop them, as he sobs loudly, horrified at all he’s done.

This was his one chance to make up for everything, and he’s fucked it up.

For all John knows, Henrik didn’t even recognise him! Henrik’s been suffering from psychosis, after all, there’s a very real possibility that he thought he was kissing Roxanna instead. Maybe _that’s_ the real reason why he was so upset moments later, because he realised it was John – and that John hadn’t shut him down right away, but _kissed him back_.

And if not that, then it must be a manifestation of instinct.

Henrik’s mind may have mostly shut down, but his body still has _needs_, and there’s only one person he consistently sees these days. It makes sense that his subconscious would pick that person to project those needs onto.

Add to that the fact that John’s been providing for him, taking care of him, dressing him and bathing him…

All of that could easily lead to Henrik thinking he was in love with John. It’s merely a chemical reaction; just molecules behaving like molecules.

But regardless of _why_ Henrik kissed John, John still took advantage of Henrik’s delirium just so he could get what he’s selfishly desired for years.

This is John’s worst fear come to life. This was why he’d refused to let other people near Henrik, for God’s sake: because Henrik was so vulnerable and fragile and some pervert could easily use that to manipulate him and…

And yet, John _is_ that pervert he was scared of. What he’s done is despicable enough, but if he could do this, if he could kiss Henrik when he can’t consent, what else could he do to him? He doesn’t want to hurt Henrik, would never forgive himself if he did, but what if he loses control somehow and does something even more awful?

He’s done so much to avoid that fear, been filled with nerves whenever he’s dressing or undressing Henrik and has to take his friend’s trousers and underwear off or put them on, given Henrik baths instead of showers to get him clean without having to touch him _there_…

But it seems it’s all been futile. John is so, so angry at and scared of himself.

At that moment, a still-sobbing John hears the door open and sees Henrik walk in.

“John?” Henrik begins, “sorry, I – I thought…” He groans and slaps a hand against his thigh in frustration at not being able to finish his sentence.

John can only feel even guiltier when he looks at Henrik. Henrik shouldn’t be the one apologising! He’s the _victim_ here!

“Henrik, don’t be sorry. You aren’t the one who needs to apologise. _I’m_ sorry for taking advantage of you by kissing back. That was wrong, and you don’t have to forgive me, but—” John finds that he’s lost for words too. “I think I should be on my own right now.”

“John, I—”

“Leave me alone!” John shouts, interrupting him; Henrik obeys, though not without giving John one last apologetic look before he leaves.

John thinks there might be tears in Henrik’s eyes, too.

-

After putting Henrik to bed that night, John, still consumed by guilt, paces the guest room (he supposes it would just be _his_ room by now, but what right does he have to any of that?) and decides this situation isn’t sustainable.

John’s spent so long trying to convince himself there were still shreds of Henrik left in there, that his mind could be salvaged somehow. He didn’t want to hold on, himself, especially not after yesterday, but Henrik’s need for someone to look after him, and the hope that his friend was still in there somewhere, kept John going. He sees, now, that that’s not the case: Henrik isn’t himself anymore.

If he were, he wouldn’t have tried to kiss someone he’s never had feelings for.

And he’s almost constantly crying now. Henrik was never one to cry, unless he was in a very, very bad place. In fact, John doesn’t think he’d ever seen Henrik cry at all _before_, apart from at his absolute lowest, on the night John had saved him from the lake.

This unstable, confused man that’s here in the real Henrik’s place cries at _everything_. If something upsets him, he cries; if he’s frustrated because he can’t remember how to do things, he cries; if there’s a loud noise, if John raises his voice too much, if something reminds him of a traumatic event, if he has a nightmare… John’s half convinced Henrik cries more often than not now, and is it any wonder after everything? Henrik almost always seems so distressed in one way or another, and John hates it.

Henrik can’t enjoy the things he used to love: he can hardly write his own name, because his motor skills are too diminished as a result of his mind essentially shutting itself down – there’s no way he’s ever going to be able to perform surgery again. He can’t remember when to use what language, his speech (at least in English, but John doesn’t imagine his Swedish is much better) is usually comprised of scattered words forced together awkwardly, and that’s when he can talk at all. He seems to forget how to read sometimes, which John thinks he hates more than anything because he knows how devastating that would be for someone like Henrik…

For Christ’s sake, Henrik can’t even tie his shoes anymore – there are days, ones that are fairly common occurrences, where he can’t even do so much as feed himself. Henrik, the _real _Henrik, wouldn’t want to live like this, John knows that.

And Henrik’s stuck with such a horrible, evil man for a carer, the man who’s the very reason he’s so… _broken_, a man who has already taken advantage of him and hurt him and could do so again…

It’s just not fair to let Henrik live like this. John sees that, now. He knows what he has to do.

-

Henrik is so quiet and compliant the next morning that it’s almost painful for John to see. He doesn’t kick up a fuss about John doing things for him, doesn’t speak a word the whole morning, doesn’t protest when John leaves for work.

If John didn’t know better, he’d say Henrik knew, somehow, about the plan, was letting some part of himself slip away in advance. He doesn’t, of course; John wouldn’t know how to tell him, wouldn’t know how to break it to him in a way that wouldn’t scare him.

Because really, there’s nothing for Henrik to be scared of, is there? There’s nothing for either of them to be scared of. It’s just like going to sleep, isn’t it? That’s what people say. John knows himself and Henrik have both already faced Hell on Earth, Henrik having it inflicted on him and John bringing it upon himself. Death is nothing compared to any of that; they are merely facing an inevitability.

And they are going to face that inevitability _together_. John made a promise, thirty-one years ago, and he’s not going to break it now.

-

John’s careful to wrap everything up at work. He writes pages of details on the trial, on how it ended up harming more people than it helped, on how he did things he shouldn’t have just to keep the trial going, on what to do for those currently taking part in it. He admits, via letter, to killing Roxanna, and to inadvertently destroying Henrik’s mind in the process.

He needs to make all of this _right_.

Finally, he tapes a goodbye note to the table, saying simply ‘it’s better this way’, and puts a syringe, a needle, and a vial of MPTP in his pockets as he leaves the lab for the final time.

-

John leads Henrik to his bedroom, and helps him onto the bed. He takes a seat in the chair close by, himself.

He could do it now, but he decides to wait. He wants to share one more moment with Henrik. One pure moment, that isn’t about providing necessary care, and where Henrik doesn’t get hurt. A moment that’s just reminiscing between friends. John wants so badly to take back the last 24 hours, but he can’t, so he wants his last moments with Henrik to be good ones. There’s no rush, they have time.

“Do you remember…” John begins awkwardly, uncertain of what one even says in a situation like this. Finally, he asks “do you remember the day we met?”

Henrik doesn’t respond. Maybe he doesn’t remember but doesn’t want to let John know, or maybe he doesn’t understand the words.

John continues, anyway. “I fell—” he stops, clears his throat, and corrects himself as he realises what he’s saying. There’s no risk in being honest, not when it’s all about to be over, but there are some things John thinks are best taken to the grave. “I felt so alone, before. Must be a surprise to you to hear that, huh? I probably seemed like I was deliberately trying to drive people away. I guess I was. Quite a few girls seemed to fancy me, though, guess the ‘bad boy’ act really does work. But you… there was something about you that just drew me in. You were one of the most interesting people I’d ever met. I think everyone else thought you were weird – not me. I thought you were amazing. I knew you were going to be a brilliant doctor. And, never let this one slip to anyone, alright? It would ruin my focused, emotionless persona,” John says with a semi-forced smile, “but I was so, so honoured that you wanted to be my friend.”

Henrik still doesn’t respond, not properly, but John swears he can see a glint of _something_ in his eyes as they look towards John.

And somehow, John knows, then, that Henrik is ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand cue the death scene from the original fic. Thank you all for reading this, and coming along with me on this wild journey of an AU that started with a 300-word ficlet that turned into a 3000-word oneshot that has now ended as a nearly-30,000-word series. I hope you all enjoyed it (if one can enjoy such a fucked up 'verse), and I hope the ending was satisfactory. Also, since this is probably the last thing I'm publishing for this AU, I think it would be appropriate to give a final shoutout, so: shoutout to prydon and swithe_ist for inspiring me to post the fic that started it all in the first place. ♥
> 
> * * *
> 
> (Details of the trigger warning: Henrik tries to kiss John. John briefly kisses back, so shocked by the event that he forgets about the circumstances, but pulls away as soon as he registers what's going on and remembers that Henrik isn't in any state to give consent. Despite having pulled away when he realised what was happening, John still feels guilty for having kissed back and feels like he's taken advantage of Henrik, and gets paranoid that he could do something even worse. It's also heavily implied that John was a victim of sexual abuse himself in the past.)


End file.
